


to dive is to fly

by oceansregina



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: (maybe lmAo), Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Light Angst, No Magic AU, Relationship(s), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-04-08 06:33:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19101649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceansregina/pseuds/oceansregina
Summary: emma is a barista at granny's diner, undeniably attracted to the woman who's always reading. regina is a single mum who just wants to give her son the world. he who shall not be named wants regina's son. emma just wants to see regina happy. no matter how many messy hearts on regina's cappuccinos she makes.(is this a slow burn ? is there angst ? fluff ? probably, it's swanqueen after all.)





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> hi friends uwu
> 
> i'm,,,, not sure,,,, what this is,,,,,, i don't actually ??? write fanfiction ??? i used to write short stories with my own characters a few years ago until i found poetry a better format to tell their stories, so really, i'm a poet more than an actual author.  
> but idk i've been stanning swanqueen for two years and a half or so and i just,, feel like i understand the characters enough to write a fanfic on them. forgive me if they're too ooc, i'm not a fanfic writer.
> 
> besides, it's finally the end of my first semester at uni so i have seven weeks to do whatever tf i want. may as well write a fanfic and tick another goal off my bucket list lol.
> 
> i hope you like it :')
> 
> EDIT: there will most definitely be legality errors in this. a) i'm a dumb bitch who writes fiction, not real life, so none of this probs would've happened irl (if it did swanqueen would be canon) and b) once everything is written i'll most likely go back to fix it all up anyway so ! for now, just accept it as it is for my sake pls haha <3  
> excuse any grammar / spelling errors as well. (but don't you dare come for 'mum' and 'colour' etc i'm australian)

_The most important thing in life is desire._

Emma scoffed. There were about a thousand other things she could name off the top of her head that were more important than desire. Oxygen, being able to effectively communicate to people, _maybe_ a hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and cinnamon and exactly two marshmallows (as if she didn’t occasionally work out anyway, but that’s besides the point.) That’s not to say that the book in between Regina Mills’ hands prompt her curiosity, nor did the little boy awkwardly propped on her arm telling her that _the most important thing in life is desire_ because, quite frankly, she wasn’t sure he was even old enough to know what ‘desire’ meant.

Then again, she had no idea Regina Mills had a son. Maybe he was the next William Wordsworth?

 _Romantics_ , she thought with a frown. Emma Swan was not a romantic. She just happened to pick up the heart shaped template from the little cardboard box full of other assorted cappuccino stencils and dribbled in the milk. But, as expected, she had failed to pour it in correctly, and so the heart melted a little into the hot drink and honestly, it looked kind of sad.

“Maybe you should’ve done this, Red,” she muttered. “I’m hopeless, clearly.”

Ruby, better known as Red because of course she was, smirked. “Maybe if you weren’t concentrated on a certain brown-eyed woman, you wouldn’t be?” She took a napkin and cleaned off a spill of hot chocolate from the side of the much smaller mug beside the cappuccino. “

“I — I wasn’t staring!”

“Bull _shit_. That, my friend, is being hopeless. You won’t even admit it!”

With a purse of her lips, she took the tray from the countertop and glared at Red. “There’s nothing to admit.”

On the contrary, there was, but Emma refused to even start working through the long list of things she couldn’t dare bring herself to accept. Like the fact that even though she had gotten used to holding trays with hot drinks on top and passing them out to customers without shaking, inside, she was an absolute quivering mess. Only for Regina Mills, of course. The other customers be damned, even her eyes were more chocolate-coloured than the hot chocolate on her tray. Logically, Emma knew that was impossible. But —

No, she absolutely won’t.

There was also that one time Regina Mills came into the cafe, Emma and Red were on close together. And while Red was behind the counter splitting tips and cleaning cocoa powder off the benches, Emma was forced to wipe down the tables. And make very awkward chitchat to this chocolate-eyed woman who was definitely aware of Emma. Wiping down tables.

She could feel the gaze but no, there’s no way that Regina Mills could even _do_ that to her. Make her —

“Miss Swan.”

With a blink, she found herself standing in front of the booth that was unofficially claimed by Regina Mills. And this little boy, apparently. For a moment, she wondered how long she was standing there for, considering the little boy’s wide-eyes staring at her, and Regina barely hiding a smile.

Emma didn’t know a lot of things but she knew it only took her three seconds to walk from A to B.

“R-Regina. Hey! Uh… a cappuccino? And a hot chocolate?”

“The hot chocolate would be for Henry here,” she remarks, taking the smaller mug off Emma’s tray. The boy — Henry — replaced the curious look with a large smile, eagerly grabbing the warm mug from her hands. Emma blinked again, before following suit and placing the cappuccino on the table. She heard a small ‘thank you’ from Regina, but before she could nod and leave, Regina had captured her wrist, eyeing her carefully.

“Henry, what do you say?”

Henry glanced up at Emma from behind his mug, the two-second smile on his face turning into a chocolate-milk frown, and Emma was very much aware of Regina’s hand round her wrist. She wasn’t sure if she was uncomfortable or antsy but she was definitely curious.

(About Henry or the hand, or maybe even both, who knows).

A shy “thank you” was said in what felt like years, and Emma’s pretty sure she’s going to die if she keeps believing in time going slower than what she thought. She watches as he takes another sip before recoiling in what she thinks might be disgust.

Their hot chocolate was the best in town, according to Red. She wouldn’t know, because she adds way too much sugar and whipped cream, and marshmallows and cinnamon are a must for her so —

 _Oh_.

“Do you like cinnamon?” Emma asks, noting the untouched marshmallows ignored on the small plate. “And marshmallows? I promise it’ll taste much nicer.”

“What’s a _mashmellow_?” Henry asks, and Emma can’t help but smile at the boy’s adorable pronunciation. In the corner of her eye, she sees the smile on Regina’s face grow a fraction larger.

Taking a quick look around at the empty diner, she slides into the booth opposite them. “It’s those things,” she replies, pointing towards the two lumps of sugar. “You like sugar, don’t you? Sugar makes everything better.”

He squints at the marshmallows, before looking at his mother. “Can I?”

She sighs, but Emma immediately thinks it’s fake — deep inside Regina must be willing to give all the marshmallows in the world to her son. It’s a bit hard to imagine, but Emma doesn’t doubt her usually boring imagination.

“Go ahead,” and Henry picks one up and inspects it in his little fingers. “Miss Swan.”

Emma’s attention snaps back towards Regina. As she suspected, those eyes were not a lie. She realises that this is the closest she’s gotten to Regina since she first walked into their cafe, and she’s definitely not complaining. Even with the coffee and chocolate permanently infused into the air, there’s a hint of apple and rose that she pays a bit more attention too.

“The cinnamon?”

“Right. Cinnamon,” she laughs nervously, immediately standing up. Why in the world do they not put cinnamon readily available on the tables? They already had raw sugar and unsweetened sugar in little packets, why not cinnamon? “I’ll uh, just go get that for you. Did you need anything else?”

“Whipped cream. My son deserves a treat, and,” she looks at the little boy who was now dipping his next marshmallow into the hot liquid. “Maybe more marshmallows.”

“An Emma Swan specialty, coming right up.” Despite her insides fluttering about, she cracks a grin, stepping backwards before spinning on her heel, heading towards the coffee machines and barely missing the smirk on Red’s face.

“Hopeless, huh?”

“Shut up, Red.”

—

All was well and good for the next couple of weeks, Emma thought. When Regina used to come in once or twice a week, now came in almost every day. Sometimes Henry would be with her, mostly on Thursdays, very rarely on Wednesdays, and never did Emma stop to ask herself why.

Why was Henry suddenly with her? Where did he come from? Emma had lived in Storybrooke practically all her life, had seen the people come and go, but when Regina first moved in, she never once mentioned a son.

That’s not to say Emma hated him, because she didn’t. He slowly started to warm up to her and Emma enjoyed seeing him every time he walked into the cafe with his tiny hand curled up into Regina’s. Red, without fail, constantly shot Emma wiggling eyebrows and curious smirks but she could only shrug and ignore them because no — there’s nothing to admit. She carried on with her job, giving only Henry the best Emma Swan hot chocolatesTM to ever exist. She was sure the other kids were jealous when they saw Henry receive his hot chocolate with five marshmallows instead of the usual two. And she was sure Regina must hate her for overfeeding her son with sugar but frankly, she didn’t care. That little boy’s smile was strangely infectious and she loved him like a son. If she had a son she’d probably stuff him with sugar too. She didn’t remember much about high school biology, but she was sure the gene for _obsession with sugar_ was highly likely to be passed down to her offspring.

On the other hand, giving special attention to Regina Mills’ order seemed a bit of an impossible conquest. She certainly didn’t care if the other customers got pissed at her, she was more concerned with herself; what were her limits? In an ideal world, Emma was sure she’d kick all the other customers out of the cafe just so Regina had as much peace and quiet as possible to enjoy whatever book she had in her hands this time. If she wasn’t already learning how to perfect the art of latte art, every cappuccino would be perfectly mixed and decorated with the most crisp milk heart on top, and she’d probably refold the napkin underneath to make sure all the edges were in line with one another… she’s seen other cafes sprinkle icing sugar on the plate (to make it fancier? She wasn’t too sure, because it seemed like a waste of perfectly good sugar), but she’d probably do that too.

Yeah. She definitely _cannot_ give special attention to a grown woman.

On one warm Thursday afternoon, she was surprised to see Henry come running through the chimed doors, jumping up and down in front of the glass display of macarons and cakes and high-tea styled sandwiches. Regina did not follow suit. Alarm bell number one.

“Kid?” Emma asked, raising an eyebrow at what definitely did not look like a child eager for cake. While she had started getting used to calling the kid for what he was, the look on his face was anything but. “What’s up?”

“It’s my Mum,” he cried. “She’s got lots of water in her eyes.”

Regina Mills… crying?

Emma looked over her shoulder and sought out Red, who had been watching the exchange from the coffee machines, and nodded her approval. Emma would have to explain it all to Granny later but she had to take Henry home. And she had to make sure Regina was okay.

By the time they cleared the crossing, Henry took her hand and tugged her towards what she presumed to be their house. She couldn’t lie, her heart had swelled at the sight of this little boy pulling her along in determination, his mop of mousy brown hair dancing in the afternoon breeze. And then she remembered whose kid this was, and what state this woman was in, and her heart sunk again.

“Hey, uh, kid? Why is your mother crying, exactly?”

He huffed, almost stomping his tiny feet on the ground as he walked. “Daddy came home again.”

 _So there is a father in the picture._ Emma wanted to hit herself. _Of course there is._ _With a woman as pretty as Regina, with a son — of course she’s married._

And then, being Emma, she jumped straight to conclusions. “Your Dad, he didn’t… hurt her, did he?”

Henry stopped and Emma almost crashed into him. He looked at her for a moment, blinked, and then sniffed, his eyes watering.

“I have to go home soon,” he whimpered, before wrapping his arms around her leg. “Please Emma, don’t let him take me! I like it here! I want to be with Mummy!”

Well. He didn’t answer her question, but what did she expect from a, what, five-year old child? At least now she knew why she hadn’t seen Henry before, or why Regina had never brought him up… and that only raised more questions.

So she crouched down to his level, fishing a tissue that she was eighty-percent sure was clean from the pocket of her red leather jacket and wiped his shiny nose and cheeks.

“Can I ask why you don’t want to go home? Do you not like your Dad?”

“He’s not my real daddy,” he mutters, pulling back and wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt. Emma grimaced, but couldn’t bring herself to stop him. “Mum and dad were happy once upon a time. Then this big green car hit him. Then Mummy was sad for a long time. Then she met dumb Ro- Robin and wore the white dress she was going to wear with Daddy! He doesn't let me do what I want because all he cares about is _archarry_.”

Ah. So this Robin was one of those guys. Emma had dealt with plenty of foster fathers that fit the description perfectly. Sure, Emma was a foster kid who didn’t really know what she wanted to do in the first place, but she liked trying new skills — that’s what kids are supposed to do, right? To see what they like?

“What _do_ you like to do, Henry?”

“I like reading,” he announces proudly, the frown quickly replaced with a huge smile that made Emma smile. “My teacher gave me a book called _Once Upon A Time!_ Mum doesn’t like it, she pretends to for me but I know she hates Snow White. She thinks the Evil Queen is cooler!”

“And is she?” Emma asks, ignoring the ache in the soles of her feet.

“Hm…” He looks around, before leaning towards her, whispering, “don’t tell Mum, but I think the Evil Queen is pretty cool too.”

Emma laughed, which only made Henry burst into giggles too, before standing up and stretching her legs.

“Come on, let’s go see how your mother is doing,” she says, taking Henry’s hand into hers, “Something tells me she’s not the kind of woman to turn into Snow White with a man like that.”

—

Regina’s house was… _huge_. And, considering that Henry didn’t even live with her, incredibly lonely.

Sure, it was pristine white with carefully trimmed hedges and a well-looked after flowers that was expected from a woman like Regina, and there was even a large apple tree in the middle of flowering, with apples so red that put Red’s own name to shame. The windows were clean, the pavement were free of fallen leaves, even the doorbell looked like no body had ever touched it — that thought made Emma feel worse.

As a kid — a foster kid at that — she would’ve loved a house this big. Then again, wouldn’t anyone? It dripped with money, and money was something Emma needed. At the time.

She still stands by her point that oxygen is certainly more important. She knew how to budget — she had to if she wanted to survive — especially since the company that gave her the foster homes let her leave because why would anyone want to adopt an eighteen-year old troublemaker? But now, she was happy. She had a job, Granny was nice enough to let her rent a room up in the bed-and-breakfast, she could afford to have three meals a day. She wasn’t fashionable in any way but at least she had clothes that didn’t have tears and scuffs in them. She could wash her hair, her face, her body, she could go to sleep comfortably — that was all she needed.

She could never imagine herself in a house like Regina’s.

When she pressed the doorbell, she could hear the click of heels on the other side on what sounded like expensive timber flooring. Mahogany, to be exact, when the door revealed the woman faintly shaking on said flooring. With a tissue scrunched up in the palm of her hand, and her eyes glassy.

Henry let go of Emma’s hand and went to hug his mother tightly round her waist, and Emma could only stand there and watch, unsure but probably correct in knowing that it’d be too awkward if she tried to hug her too. Regina wrapped her arms around her son, but her eyes were trained on Emma.

“M-Miss Swan.” The way her voice cracked despite her best attempts to remain neutral, maybe even confident, only made Emma want to hug her more. “What are you doing here?”

“I took her here to cheer you up, Mum!” Henry explained for her, smiling. “She’s going to help us so that I can stay here with you!”

“I…am?” Emma asked, but the quick snap of Henry’s head shut her up. “I am. Right. Uh… where do we start?”

“You told her everything, Henry?” Regina asks instead, and Emma can’t tell if she’s annoyed or disappointed or what.

“She’s the Saviour, Mum!”

When neither woman responded, Henry groaned, making a quick dash for the living room before returning with an old leather book in his hands. He fell to the floor, opening it up to a page where an artwork dominated the space.

“See? See? Emma looks just like the Saviour in _Once Upon A Time!_ And the Saviour’s supposed to help everyone find their happy ending! Emma’s gonna find a way to help get rid of dumb Robin because I don’t like him, I want to live here with you, Mum.”

“Henry…” Regina sighs, crouching down to his level. “It’s just a story. It’s not real. Emma isn’t the ‘Saviour.’”

Emma definitely wants the floor to open up and swallow her. She can’t think of a more upsetting thing to say and she hates that Regina is right.

She doesn’t even know them.

“And you’re not Snow White,” Henry remarks with a pout. “You’re the Evil Queen! And you’re letting dumb Robin take your heart! He’s no Prince Charming.”

“Henry —”

“No! I want to live here with you.” And with that, he jumped up with the book and stomped upstairs, slamming a door with a strength Emma didn’t know was possible for a five-year-old. She supposes it’s what happens when you let imagination blur too much with reality.

Not wanting to be trapped in a state of awkward silence, Emma sighs, offering a hand to Regina. “Henry kind of… said some things. About his Dad? He doesn’t like that Robin doesn’t let him do what he wants to do.”

Regina nods in response, but helps herself up. Emma awkwardly tucks her hand into the pocket of her jeans, cheeks burning.

“I know he hates Robin. He misses Daniel — I do too. But there’s nothing anyone can do. Robin has made up his mind, he wants sole custody of Henry. I’m sorry Henry stole you from work, but you can leave now.”

“Regina, I—”

“Miss Swan.”

Emma can only bow her head and turn her back. But then she hears a quiet sniff, barely audible but still there, accompanied by the faint smell of apple, and sighs.

“If it helps, I’ll make both your drinks for free, this week.”

“Goodbye, Miss Swan.”

—

Regina, of course, continues to pay despite her offer.

Emma tries to argue, but for whatever reason, Granny has decided to come down to actually help this week, so she can’t do anything but sigh and take the card from her long fingers.

Henry isn’t with her either. Emma feels sorry for the both of them. They need each other more than ever but it’s clear Henry has inherited Regina’s stubbornness.

On a more optimistic note, her latte art skills are improving, because Red is shocked to see a perfect heart drawn on one of Regina’s cappuccinos. Even Granny is impressed. Regina doesn’t even notice, and Emma feels like the approval of her friend and boss is worthless.

On the days she isn’t working, Emma is holed up in her room brewing cappuccinos, perfecting the milk hearts until she can literally do it with her eyes closed (of course, that results in her spilling it over the mug but at least the milk foam is the right consistency).

Regina still doesn’t care, but Emma can’t stop trying.

That’s how she found herself in front of Regina Mills’ house the next day off work, dressed in her red leather jacket, a white singlet, black jeans, and combat boots. She doesn’t normally curl her hair but she did it anyway. Even her eyebrows are tamer than usual. She can only hope her miracles extend to winning over Regina Mills’ —

Happiness. Yes, she wants Regina to be happy. Nothing more. No one deserves to be sad and lonely, Emma knew the feeling all too well.

Well, _shit_. She hasn’t even read the damn book but she's starting to sound like the ‘Saviour’ Henry was so intent on calling her. If only she knew what this ‘Saviour’ actually did to give people their happy endings.

Happy endings. Happiness. They say Disneyland is ‘the happiest place on Earth’ but it’s not like there was any near Storybrooke. Amusement parks were the next best thing and —

“Emma?”

Emma stared at the woman who had just opened the door. Did Emma knock? Was she just standing on her porch like an idiot? Again?

“Regina! Hi. Um.” She could feel herself visibly sweat. Bouncing on the heels of her boots, her brain began to fail her of basic English.

“What are you doing here?”

The question of the century, Emma thought. What _was_ she doing here? What was she thinking of before Regina opened the door?

Oh. That’s right.

“Um, I was wondering if you and Henry would like to go to the amusement park next week?”


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow it's wednesday my dudes !!!
> 
> to clarify: i actually don't know what i'm doing, nor do i have any idea where this story is heading, or what the big complication is or whatever. i know some people like to draft out story outlines and actually do research but i literally cannot do that. it's just not in my nature. i never do that with my poetry nor did i ever do it with my short stories when i wrote them once upon a time (lol). it really is gonna be an unpredictable ride huh we gonna be writing whatever seems to make sense for me at the time !!!!!!!!!
> 
> anyways, i hope you enjoy this chapter. i certainly did bc i couldn't stop crying @ the thought of swan-mills rip

She agrees, to Emma’s surprise. A part of her really thought Regina wouldn’t take the offer, especially because A: she refused to drink free coffee and B: Regina doesn’t look like the kind of person who would be very much into amusement parks, even as a child.

She suspects it’s for Henry, as a low-key way to say sorry via Emma. Considering what she knows about the two, she’s sure Henry has never been to an amusement park and is anything but shy once they’ve stepped foot into the whimsical madness that’s definitely about to change their lives forever.

Henry wants to go on everything. Regina looks at each ride he points to with a certain look of distaste. She lets Emma purchase the unlimited rides wristband for him, also to her dismay, but Emma assures her that it’ll cost her one shift’s pay and she’s confident she won’t be wasting her money, considering the eagerness on Henry’s face.

“Are there any rides you want to go on, Regina?” Emma asks, leaning against the fence that borders the shiny carousel. Regina is standing a few steps to her right, her eyes focused on her son stretching his leg as far as possible to touch the stirrups of the horse he’s on. She’s been very quiet, and Emma was prepared for that, but she was hoping to at least learn a bit more about Regina. Even if it’s her favourite ride. Emma’s willing to take anything at this point.

She’s still not a romantic, in case you were wondering.

But she’s still met with silence, so she sighs and watches as the carousel lights up and dancers, going round and round and hearing Henry’s squeals of delight along the way. When Emma sneaks a peek at the quiet woman beside her, she can’t help but smile, because there’s a tiny, but genuine smile planted on her red lips. _She really loves Henry that much, huh_.

“Do you like horses?” She asks instead. Regina doesn’t seem to hear her, so she goes back to watching Henry.

“I… used to ride them when I was a teenager.”

If this was a comedy show, Emma would’ve definitely had bulging eyes and her jaw dropped to the ground, but she’s got a less dramatic and therefore less funny look on her face instead. 

There’s also a tinge of sadness to Regina’s words, so Emma deduces that it must be a painful memory that she probably shouldn’t probe any further. Maybe one day (in her dreams, maybe). Instead, she awkwardly places her hand on Regina’s shoulder, smiling.

“Let’s go on the carousel then! The amusement park isn’t just for kids, you know.”

Regina opens her mouth to protest but Emma’s already tugging her towards the ticket booth, slapping a twenty-dollar note onto the counter. Then they’re lining up for the ride, surrounded by kids much younger than them, and Emma is grinning when she spots Henry clambering off the horse and running towards them.

“Come on kid, you’re gonna ride again!” Emma exclaimed, and Henry doesn’t even disagree, joining them in the line.

Watching Regina Mills trying to sit on a painted metallic horse has definitely got to be on Emma’s top ten lists of pure comedy. She stood beside the horse for a few seconds, possibly questioning the fact that she was about to ride a fake children’s ride, before she attempted to sit on it. Not only was she wearing black ankle heels and a black trench coat that made movement hard enough already, Emma realised she was incredibly short. And it hadn’t occurred to her till now. When the female assistant controlling the ride came around to help some of the littler kids up on the horses, Emma had to hold in a laugh when Regina had to be helped up by the woman too. She visibly grimaced at the sight of flaking gold paint on the pole impaling the horse’s body and the cherub-sounding music that surrounded them, and Emma was starting to struggle holding back her huge grin.

She wasn’t as obnoxious as Henry, who laughed at his mother the entire time.

Once the ride started, Regina seemed to recall something, maybe from her past, because she sat up straight as she bobbed up and down beside Emma. And then she looked around, saw the height of the little kids, and slouched back into the horse. Emma snorted. Regina heard and glared at her.

“You definitely rode horses,” Emma remarked, to which she was met with a roll of the eyes in return.

“And you doubted me because? I happened to me one of the best riders in the club.” Her eyes drifted towards Henry, who acted like he was on a real horse, and smiled the softest smile that made Emma physically ache inside her chest. “I wish I could teach Henry how to ride. A real horse, obviously.”

Emma wished she could make Regina forget about Robin. Even for the day. “I think he’d love that,” she replies, and Regina nods sadly.

She’s warming up to her, she notes, once they’re off the ride and Henry’s begging them for fairy floss. He’s never tried it, which means Regina certainly hasn’t either. So they sit on an empty bench, Henry on one side, Emma on the other, trying to get Regina to eat the damn stuff. Henry breaks her first with his adorable puppy eyes, something Emma doesn’t dare compete with nor match, and it’s hard for Regina to keep up her neutral face when the two kids either side of her are feeding her fairy floss and grinning like maniacs.

Then they’re up and walking again, Henry racing out front while the adults linger behind in what Emma likes to think is a comfortable silence. Regina denies Henry from going on _The Hair Raiser_ , and Emma has to step in to explain to the kid in the calmest way possible why he isn’t old enough nor tall enough to go on it. Then there’s the swings, and Regina only lets him go on it together with Emma. From where they’re seated, they can see Regina on her own, watching them from below, and Emma wonders if Regina has a fear of heights. Maybe even motion sickness, because Emma was not expecting the ride to go _that_ fast and even she feels a bit dizzy.

Once they’re back on the ground again, Henry immediately points to the mirror maze, throwing on his puppy eyes. All of a sudden, Regina is a different person, telling Henry and Emma that she can clear the maze faster than both of them combined.

Emma, naturally, rises to the challenge. Because of course she does.

To add to the cockiness, Regina volunteers to go first, to Emma’s amusement. She sits on another nearby bench with the kid and takes out her phone, thumb hovering over the ‘start’ button to her stopwatch. Regina looks over her shoulder and gives Emma the most sensual stare she’s ever been blessed with. Or maybe it was a sneer, she’s not sure, nor does she particularly care, because the look is gone again, taken with the woman who disappeared behind the black curtains. Henry swings his legs underneath as they wait, constantly babbling questions like: 'what is my Mum is lying? What if she’s lost in there right now? Can we buy more fairy floss if we beat her?’ and Emma has to laugh and tell him that the longer she’s lost in there, the more chance they have of getting that fairy floss, period.

She’s also about to catch a bit of sleep while she’s at it before she feels Henry jump onto his feet and gasp so loudly that a few heads turned. She has to blink, because Regina is there again, tucking a loose curl of dark hair behind her ear, her face smug.

“I figured I’d overwhelm you to the point where you forget to press _stop_ , so I timed myself. Can’t have you tarnishing my skill,” Regina huffs when she’s in closer proximity. Emma looks at her phone, the numbers only passing a minute, and her left eye twitches. “Would you look at that! Forty-six seconds! Probably not a world record, but in your world, it might be as well be.”

Emma can’t even argue. Mostly because a) was this woman a witch or something? Did she have magic? She practically teleported and she wasn’t sure if that was okay. And b) Henry was already dragging her to the entrance, yelling at her to transform into the Hulk or something so that they could smash through the mirrors and clear the maze in ten seconds.

Sure. The closest she can get to the Hulk is getting incredibly angry, but she’s not about to paint her skin green just to please the kid, nor was she about to strip away her clothes to what she thinks might be white underwear today, not purple boxer shorts (did she even own anything purple? A question for later,) especially when their fairy floss was on the line.

Even though Emma works out quite often, she’s questioning her lungs, because she’s feeling out of breath as the kid drags her through the admittedly terrifying sight surrounding her. There were eyes — her eyes — everywhere, and the mop of brown hair in front of her wasn’t exactly the cutest sight in the world right now. He touched each surface with his tiny hands, and that’s when Emma realised how Regina cleared the maze so quickly.

“Kid, how about we go about this a bit more logically? Look at the mirrors, they’re all got fingerprints.”

“So?” He asks, his cheeks puffing out in a way much like Regina’s. “Mum’s waiting outside laughing, probably.”

“Let her have her victory, we’ll beat her at something else more our speed. Let’s go to the dodgem cars next.” Henry exclaims a very high-pitched ‘yessss!’ in response and Emma grins.

By the time they finally reach sunlight again, Regina is on the bench with her own fairy floss, looking as smug as ever. “Four minutes, what a shame.”

“I thought you didn’t like fairy floss,” Emma remarks, narrowing her eyes at Regina’s casual shrug. 

“It’s okay.”

“Uh huh.” She turns to the kid. “You sure she’s the Evil Queen?”

“My, Miss Swan, broaden your horizons, I’m sure the real Evil Queen enjoys fairy floss from time to time too.”

Emma can only laugh.

 

—

 

They beat Regina at the dodgem cars. They knew this because Henry declared that for every time they hit her car, they got a point, and so they kept bumping Regina’s car, sixty-nine times, to be exact. Regina of course argued this because technically she was hitting their cars just as much they were to hers but for Henry’s sake, she shut up and let them take the glory.

Emma was having the time of her life, that’s for sure.

As the sky began to fade into a very romantic orange, Regina and Henry claimed a shiny red-painted picnic table while Emma went to buy dinner. Nothing screamed _amusement park dinner_ like a box of hot chips with chicken salt (a real treasure in fast-food cuisine), a burger, and lemonade in a can. Regina… Regina had a salad, when she returned. From who-knows-where, her purse? She’s been to this amusement park a few times now and not once did she remember a healthy food stand anywhere. She frowned as she set the tray onto the table, Henry diving straight for the chips.

“Canth you get her to eat a chipth, Emma?” Henry whined with a full mouth.

Emma sighed. “I’m sure Henry was begging for you to eat anything but that while I was away?” She asks Regina instead, to which she receives a ‘hmm’ in return. “I know it’s not helpful, but you look great, Regina. A single chip won’t hurt you.”

“Unlike you, Miss Swan, I don’t have time to work out.”

“I — wait, how did you know I work out?”

Emma was sure Regina wasn’t even _trying_ to be subtle when those chocolate eyes landed on her biceps, and Emma was very much aware of her red leather jacket tied around her waist instead. She had nothing to hide, she was happy with her body but right now? She felt scrutinised if anything. If Regina was appreciating them, well… it’s not like a _little_ verbal appreciation hurt anybody.

But Emma trained her eyes onto the chips instead, picking one up and rolling it between her fingers. “You don’t have to eat them, it’s fine.”

They both heard Henry’s audible sigh of dismay. “You’re always eating salads though! If the Evil Queen likes fairy floss surely she must like chips! Nobody hates chips!”

“Henry…” Emma warned, very much aware of the motherly tone she had somehow interwoven with her voice. But she ignored it, giving a pointed look to the child instead. When she saw his eyes go glassy, she sighed again. “Maybe… maybe the Saviour likes chips more than the Evil Queen? Maybe she goes into battle shooting thousands of chips at her enemies, while the Evil Queen hones the power of fairy floss — trapping her own enemies inside giant clouds of pink, sticky —”

“That sounds like a lame superhero movie, not a fairy tale,” Henry interjects, but he’s smiling, and Emma breathes a silent sigh of relief. More importantly, she hears giggling — the faintest giggling, but it’s there, and she wonders why she’s surprised that the owner of those giggles is Regina.

Maybe she’s more surprised about the fact that Regina — husky, pretty, cappuccino-drinking Regina — has the most feminine, childish laugh in the entire world. It’s adorable, she wants to say, but adorable and Regina doesn’t exactly mash well together. 

Even Henry is surprised, slowly biting into a chip as he watches his mother wipe happy tears from her mascara’d eyes. 

“‘Hones the power of fairy floss’? Really, Miss Swan?” She asks once she catches her breath. “That sounds like something the Sugarplum Fairy would have, not the Evil Queen. Poisoned apples seem to be more her style.”

“Hey, maybe she’s resourceful! A surprise tactic, one her enemies would never suspect from the super scary Evil Queen!”

She rolls her eyes, biting into a singular lettuce leaf. 

“You guys are weird,” Henry finally remarked with a nod of his head. Emma could only agree.

 

—

 

Now it was really beginning to darken, and Regina looked liked she was ready to go home, but the magic of the amusement park was only just beginning. The moment the world around them lit up in a firework display of rainbow colours, Henry clapped his hands and pointed to the sky, eyes glittering with light.

“We _have_ to go on the ferris wheel! Please Mum, please Emma?”

While Emma was more than happy to accomodate his request, Regina looked like she had seen a ghost.

“Absolutely not, Henry.”

“Why not?!”

“Because.”

“Because is not an excuse! You told me that yourself!”

Emma watched the exchange and wondered why Regina was so hesitant. She had already refused coming with them to the swings, maybe she had a fear of heights?

“Henry,” she interrupts, touching his shoulder gently. “Can you wait over there for a bit? I need to talk to your Mum.”

She could feel the frown from the other woman digging into her, as well as the less developed frown on Henry’s face, but he huffed and went to watch the other families climb onto the ferris wheel. Emma turned to Regina then, and gave her a gentle smile, as if she was trying to calm down a frightened lamb.

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

Well, she was talking to her, at least. Definitely an improvement from this morning.

“I understand the swings, but I assure you, Regina, the ferris wheel is a hundred-percent safe. The view up there is incredible, I promise! You can trust me.”

Regina let out a laugh, but it wasn’t the soft, precious giggles she had escape earlier. For a moment, Emma thought Henry’s stupid book of fairy tales had come true and she really was talking to the Evil Queen, and her heart sunk.

“Trust you? Miss Swan, I barely know you!”

Why did Emma feel like she had swallowed a thousand glass shards and let them stab her already drowned heart?

“I don’t need my head in the clouds. I need to stay grounded, or —”

“Or what, Regina?” Emma snapped back, though seconds later she internally winced at her tone. But she saw the flare of Regina’s nostrils and knew it was too late to back down now. “It’ll affect Henry in some way? He’s got his head stuck in fairy tales and it doesn’t take a genius to see he’s got his head in the clouds. Aren’t you supposed to be the good parent, the one that lets him explore his imagination?”

“Don’t you _dare_ tell me how to parent my own child.” Now they’re in each other’s personal space and Emma absolutely _hates_ that she can smell the apples wafting from the other woman’s neck. She clenches her jaw and tries to smack the thought away, or at least keep it locked up for another time because now was not the time nor place to be admiring Regina’s stupid perfume. 

“Why are you so afraid, anyway?”

“Afraid of _what_ , Miss Swan?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Letting your kid have fun. Going on a ferris wheel. For God’s sake, Regina, it’s a ferris wheel!”

“I know what it is, you imbecile.”

“Then _talk to me_! You don’t know me but I want to know you, I want to help you, I want to help Henry. He loves you, more than his father it seems, you’re his escape!” She stops, blinking back tears. “I’ve had plenty of foster fathers who stopped me from climbing to the top, because what does a foster kid like me know?”

This catches Regina off-guard, it seems. “You… were in foster care?”

Emma ignores it anyway. It’s not a fun topic and they’re talking about Regina, not her. But her voice is softer too and she can’t help it, there’s something about Regina that makes her wants to yell, to whisper, to touch her heart and never let her go, because it’s clear something’s wrong and it seems Emma’s stepped right into that rabbit hole. “You can trust me, Regina. Why are you afraid?”

It’s a murmur, at first. When Regina realises Emma couldn’t hear her, she bites her lips and intertwines her fingers with one another. “Of letting go. Of the branch, of the bars of that ferris wheel, of Henry.” And then Emma feels a warm mouth beside her ear, “Henry’s going to grow up and realise that the sky isn’t as pretty as it seems. He’s better on the ground.”

And then the warmth is gone again, and a singular tear glints under the carnival lights.

“Mum? Emma?” Henry is beside them again, and Regina takes his hand into hers.

“Come on Henry, it’s getting late.”

Emma doesn’t even get a thank you, or a good night, just a sad little wave from a confused little boy.

 

—

 

“What do you _mean_ it went horribly?” Red asks, sipping her iced chocolate through a metal straw. (Metal, because Red keeps biting through their paper ones; how her teeth are that sharp and why she fiddles with straws in the first place, Emma has yet to understand.)

“It just — it was awful. Kind of awkward, then absolutely fine, then complete and utter disaster.”

“Glad to see you know what synonyms and hyperbole are, but that’s not helpful to me in anyway, shape or form. What did she do? Say? The kid was with you two, wasn’t he?”

Emma muffles her groans against her arm, which was resting on the countertop. Red slides her half-drunk hot chocolate towards her, and she eyes it carefully, as if it too might grow two legs and walk away from her.

“Oh my God,” Red exclaims suddenly, making Emma jump in her spot. “Don’t tell me we lost another customer. She’s going to come back, right?”

Crap. Emma hadn’t considered that at all. Not from a business perspective, but not even from a personal perspective. Did she just let Regina walk away for good? 

She shouldn’t care. It’s been a little more than three months since Regina moved into Storybrooke, just over one since she met Henry, and she doesn’t want to admit it but —

The door chimes, and in comes running in a very flustered Henry.

“Kid?” Emma exclaims, immediately moving in front of the counter and crouching down to his level. “Why are you here? Where’s your Mum?”

“I’m…” He places his hand against his chest, which is a bit dramatic for Emma’s standards but she’s patient with him anyway. “I’m supposed to be… at school right now.”

“Hey, wait, that’s a bad idea, Henry! What if your Mum finds out?”

“She won’t! I asked Miss Blanchard to keep it a secret.”

Emma knits her eyebrows together, and Red disguises a laugh with a very fake-sounding cough, but Henry is serious. 

“She’s going to kill me. Then you. Then me again. But whatever you say kid, I trust you.”

“Good! Here’s the thing —” He squats down and unzips his school bag, taking out an inconspicuous blue notebook, flipping it open to a bookmarked page. There are doodles scribbled across the spread, and despite Emma having to squint at them, she’s not sure what any of it means. “I overheard you and Mum arguing that night. You have to know our story if you want to help us.”

“Kid…” She bites her lip, catching his gaze. “I don’t think your Mum wants help. Not my help, anyway.”

“She does! Look. She’s got a _fee — fisikul_ fear of heights. From when she was my age! Mum wanted to fly, that’s why she used to ride horses. She thinks riding horses is almost like flying. She had a horse named — um — I don’t know how to say it. It starts with R.”

Well, that could be anything, but Emma’s not about to starting playing guessing games.

“Anyways. I don’t like Grandma. She’s scary. Mum doesn’t like her either. She thinks she’s the Queen of Hearts in my book, stealing love from her people so that they’re heartless. I don’t like her house either, it looks like it’s sur — surrounded by a haunted forest. I keep asking if she wants me to water her trees for her because Mum says to always be nice and polite but Grandma says that that’s the way they are.”

Emma frowned. Did Regina’s Mum have something to do with what she had told her that night, away from the ferris wheel? She was afraid of letting go… of several things. _Of the branch_ , she remembers. Like a tree branch? Emma might not be the most imaginative, certainly not like Henry is, but surely Regina couldn’t be scared of a few gnarly-sounding trees? What did trees ever do to people?

“Can I have a hot chocolate now?” Emma blinks. A hot chocolate? Now? But he had barely scraped the surface of what she wanted to know, and those drawings, no offence to Henry of course, were useless! But then he was stuffing the book back into his back, looking at the clock hanging on the wall. “Never mind, I have to get back. Bye Emma!”

And then it was quiet again. 

“Well,” Red says from behind her, “that was quite the story.”

Emma sighs, picking herself up and straightening her apron, very much aware of the lingering eyes surrounding her. “He’s a kid.”

“With a very interesting mother,” her friend muses. “And grandmother, it seems. He may be a kid Emma, but believe me, my kindergarten teacher said I had no imagination. Me! No imagination! I wish I had his imagination because I swear, I was ready to go all _Big Bad Wolf_ on her.”

Emma just chuckles and rolls her eyes, “No imagination, huh? The _Big Bad Wolf_ is literally from _Aesop’s Fables_.”

“That’s what I mean, it’s not an original idea! And this teacher thought that five-year-old Red had the mental capacity and worldly experience to write the next best-selling fantasy story?” She scoffs, “absolutely not. Point is, we need to help him. And your lady-crush.”

“I — that had absolutely _nothing_ to do with _anything_!” Emma exclaims, feeling the beginnings of a pounding headache coming on. She so desperately wanted to smash her head against the marbled counters, and she also wanted to go back to her little room in the bed-and-breakfast, make her own hot chocolate and curl into bed, because nothing screamed ‘stress-relieving’ like a hot drink and a toasty warm bed.

Red may be the worst person to have a conversation with right now, but she had one thing right. (Everything else? Useless or inaccurate. Regina is _not_ her ‘lady-crush’ and she does not need to point that out for the millionth time now.) Henry needed help. Regina also needed help. 

“ _She’s the Saviour, Mum!”_

Emma laughs in spite of herself. The Saviour. Another fantasy created by a child influenced by fantasy stories. Saviours don’t exist, and even if they did, it certainly wouldn’t be her. She couldn’t even justify squeezing herself into what already seemed like a delicate situation, especially since, in Regina’s opinion, they barely knew one another. 

Her heart squeezes at the anger that slipped through every word, still fresh with hot blood. Emma may not be a lovey-dovey daydreamer, but she’s not so sure she’s a realist either. She really thought they had crossed the _acquaintance_ bridge and were stepping into _friends_ territory before Regina seemingly snapped. And Emma could use some more friends, someone mature like Regina (how _old_ was she, anyway?) to balance out Red’s ditziness. She didn’t have many friends to begin with. She likes making new friends. At least, she thinks she does.

_One thing’s for sure_ , she thinks, tucking a blonde curl behind her ear and preparing herself for the lunchtime rush, _I still want to be her friend_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my twitter and curious cat is @oceansregina is you have any questions or care lol


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'tis a v short chapter this week, i'm afraid :'( but i hope you like it nonetheless uwu
> 
> i think one of my personal headcanons is tsundere!emma and tsundere!regina mostly because i am a bit of a tsundere myself lmaoooooooo (you'll have to google it if you don't understand / want to find out what your 'dere' personality is but my characterisations of regina and emma are very much influenced by my own thoughts and experiences !!!!!!!! and part of me thinks that them being tsundere isn't completely ooc but idk we all have our opinions <3

They didn’t lose another customer, in case you were wondering.

To Emma’s relief and Red’s delight, Regina comes strolling into the cafe at approximately four o’clock, ordering a cappuccino and refusing to make direct eye contact with Emma behind the register. But she’s talking to her, most likely out of necessity if she wanted her cappuccino but, still, she’s talking to her. And Emma refuses to take that as anything but a good sign towards… friendship. Yes, friendship.

Emma’s next step? Getting Regina’s drink personally delivered by Emma herself, _maybe_ try and sit opposite her in the booth she’s claimed. Or stand. In case she’s still… aggressive. (She’s not scared, obviously. If Regina still wants space, she’ll give her that.)

Red makes the drink and throws Emma the largest wolf-like grin in the world, her vampire fangs as they’re appropriately named gleaming under the overhead lights. Emma knows exactly why Red is smiling like that but unfortunately for her, she’s wasting her efforts, because Emma is only going to there to apologise and rebuild their ‘relationship’ — in in, they’re back to square one, acquaintances, and Emma’s going to change that to friendship as soon as she can, because she considers Granny an acquaintance and Regina is no Granny.

_F R I E N D S._ She just wants to be friends.

She takes the cappuccino and walks towards the booth, a walk that combines both speed-walking (she’s still getting over the lunch-time rush), and nervous slow steps because what if? What if Regina is still mad and actually doesn’t want to talk to her and what is the chance that Emma will just embarrass herself (as if this walk isn’t embarrassing enough)? And —

Now she’s staring right into chocolate brown eyes and the cup almost slips from her fingers because she’ll never get over the intensity of those eyes.

“Uh, one cappuccino?” Emma wants to slap herself. In her head, she greeted Regina, by her name or with a simple ‘hi,’ anything _but_ announcing her order right off the bat. _Great_ , she thinks, as she places the cup awkwardly on the table, _you’re literally going backwards, Swan._

Well, at least she notes the new book in Regina’s freshly manicured hands. Carmine-tipped fingers that curled round the handle of the cup, but made no effort to pick it up. Emma wondered if she was waiting for her to leave. She wasn’t about to do that without apologising, though.

“Hey, Regina, about that night —”

“I don’t —” She interrupts, her voice sharp and quite frankly, it felt like she was cutting Emma out completely, “care. I don’t want to talk about it, Miss Swan. Thank you.”

But of course, Emma wasn’t going to let her win that easily. So, despite her initial doubts, she slipped into the seat opposite her, elbows on table, frowning.

“But I do, Regina.” She takes a deep breath, knowing that nothing was going to stop her now. “You’re right, we barely know each other. Even though you’ve been coming into this cafe every week, ever since you moved her. I know your order off by heart, hell, I can make it with my eyes closed if you wanted me to. I know about your son, and I know what you’re going through right now. I may not understand it, or ever related to it, but I _know_.”

Regina watches her with narrowed eyes, but at least she’s closed the book and let it rest on the table. Good. She had her attention, which was something.

“So you’re a bit of a bitch. But for whatever reason, I still want to help you. Or maybe you don’t want me to get involved. That’s okay, I still want to be there for you in some way.”

“And pray tell, Miss Swan, what about me is desperate for someone’s shoulder to cry on?”

Emma gulped, but trained her eyes to focus on Regina, and the way her lips pursed as she brought the cup to her lips. And her eyes. _Look at her eyes, you idiot_.

“I’ve lived in this town ever since I could afford to stay in a place longer than a month,” she shrugs, biting her lip. “I’ve seen people come and go. It’s a small town, Regina, people talk. Especially in a cafe like this. Not once have I heard your name in those conversations. You think you’re some kind of mysterious witch but really, I think you’re lonely. In a house that big, where your son isn’t even with you most of the time. You don’t have many friends, and I don’t either. It kinda makes sense, right?”

The woman opposite her remains silent, the cup still at her lips, but the moment she places it down Emma notices it empty. But she still doesn’t speak. Emma wonders if she even heard a word she said.

And then, she laughs. An awfully sarcastic, empty one.

“Me? Lonely? I don’t think so.”

Emma frowns. “You’re defending yourself?”

“I’m not lonely, Miss Swan. I have my son with me.”

“For how long?” Silence. “Exactly. I know when people are lying, Regina.”

Her red lips curl into a heavy pout. “Is that your super power or something?”

“I — maybe. It hasn’t let me down yet.”

Regina scoffs.

Emma wants to curl up into a ball and cry, but she also wants to slap some sense into this woman. Being friends isn’t a scary thought, is it? 

_Have you considered that… maybe… just maybe… she hates you?_

You see, Emma had entertained these thoughts before. Several times, usually at night and she’s struggling to fall asleep. But she could also come up with a list of reasons as to why Regina Mills could not possibly hate her.

One. Regina Mills greeted her (before Henry and before this apparent mess) when she delivered her drinks. With a (polite, most likely,) smile on her face.

Two. She didn’t stop Henry from ever seeing her again on the day that boy came running into the cafe, telling Emma that his mother was in tears. No, Henry was literally with them when they went to the amusement park.

Three.

“Miss Swan.”

Emma blinks. What was number three?

“Emma.”

She’s not sure why she looked over her shoulder, as if there was another person with her name behind her. But when she looks back towards Regina, she’s met with a less intense gaze, as soft as the name that fell from her red lips.

Wait.

“Y-You — You know my name?”

Regina tugs on her bottom lip, pushing the empty cup towards her almost shyly. Emma wonders if she transcended to another universe while she was lost in her thoughts and landed in a reality where this Regina — who had her Regina’s eyes, the dark curls, the honey voice, even the little birthmark near her lips — was _bearable_.

But the illusion starts to crumble the moment Regina seemingly realises what she said, her fists digging into her black pencil skirt and an annoyed pout curling. Emma’s not sure what just happened, but she does know that the red flush on Regina’s cheeks, despite her irritation, is very, very pretty.

And it makes her stomach tighten.

“Of _course_ I know your name, idiot,” Regina breathes out, nostrils flaring. Emma’s just about had it with her sappy daydreaming, because this Regina? This Regina just dug her own grave, and Emma’s definitely about to take advantage of that.

“Nup!”

If looks could simultaneously kill and give life, Regina was the definition of such a look. “What are you on about?”

“It’s not ‘idiot,’ try again.”

There’s a vein that starts to peek on her forehead, and it fuels Emma’s amusement to the point where she’s actually forgotten about whatever they were talking about. It might’ve been sad and depressing but right now, Emma cared more about the look on Regina’s face as she took a deep breath and exhaled an exasperated, “Miss Swan.”

“Incorrect. Come on Regina, you don’t strike me as someone who’d _purposefully_ fail their tests!”

“This is no test, Miss Swan.”

Emma leans forward, propping her chin on her intertwined hands. “It is now. So, what’s my name?”

The other woman opens her mouth, then closes it again. Emma could go at this for hours.

“If you say it, I’ll make you a free cappuccino!”

“I absolutely do not want to be bribed with your del — _disgusting_ cappuccino,” she huffs immediately.

Emma’s not stupid, she just smirks and quirks an eyebrow. “Oh? Did I hear _delicious_?”

“I’ve had better.”

“Why do you come here then? There’s other cafes in Storybrooke _._ ”

“I —” Emma struck gold here. Seeing Regina Mills go absolutely, completely, utterly red just made her list of top ten favourite pastimes. “Fine. You win. You make somewhat decent cappuccinos that satisfy me more than the other cafes here.”

“Uh-uh, I haven’t completely won.” Emma’s not about to admit that her heart swelled up ten sizes and she’s afraid it might burst free from her chest upon hearing the low-key compliment hidden beneath the sarcasm, but she makes a mental note to thank Red and Granny for teaching her how to make good drinks that isn’t her favourite hot chocolate. Particularly drinks that have won the heart of one Regina Mills. 

What she needs right now is to hear her say her name.

“Regina…” When she averts her eyes and goes all silent, Emma shuffles forward in her seat some more, until the edge of the table is digging into her ribs. “Regina, Regina, Regina —”

“Em-ma.”

Eye contact. She catches Regina’s chocolate eyes and the whole world seems to go quiet and comes to a gentle stop. Which is good, Emma thinks, because she drinks up the sound of her own name like her favourite cinnamon-topped hot chocolate and is as whipped as the whipped cream on top because _holy shit_. Her name sounds like melted chocolate dripping off Regina’s tongue. It’s a luxury, some kind of rare cocoa bean from some exotic land and she really does feel like she’s found the golden ticket because Regina Mills saying her name is perfection.

Okay, so she’s shit at trying to describe how she feels, and cafe-related similes are the only things she tcan think of that are sweet enough to compare to the way Regina said her name. The point is, she’s never going to forget it.

“A-Are you happy now?” Regina mutters, her shoulders still tense. “I’ve said your name. So what?”

Emma just gets on her feet, picking up the ignored cup in one hand, tucking that damn blonde curl behind her ear, and gives her a soft smile.

“See? We don’t _barely know each other_ anymore.”

It might’ve been the smartest conclusion to a conversation Emma’s ever thought of.

…

There’s a sparkling-eyed, wolf-grinning Red waiting for her when she returns from the bathroom, having spent a solid ten minutes propping herself over the sink, staring at the mirror, and teaching herself how to breathe like a normal human being again. It’s difficult when all she can hear in the silence of the bathroom is _Em-ma, Em-ma, Em-ma_.

Regina has left, but Red’s expression makes her wonder if she had said something to her while Emma was gone. 

“A ten-dollar tip, _Miss Swan_!” Red teases, and Emma has to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling. “I’d say, you got yourself on her good side again.”

“I didn’t _do_ anything, Red, to earn that much tip money,” Emma protests instead, refusing to take the shiny blue note from her waiting fingers. “Plus, I’d rather we keep it for the Christmas party, so put it in there.”

Red frowns. “She did say to give it to you…”

“I’m honoured, but I can’t take it. I’m happy to continue making the best cappuccinos in all of Storybrooke.”

With a shrug, she pushes the ten dollars into the _Christmas Party Money!!!_ jar.

She joins Emma at the counter, picking up a rag and a bottle of eucalyptus oil that Red’s friend Belle had brought back with her from Australia. It’s got a horribly strong smell but it works wonders to remove the sticky spots left behind from taping up receipts and other notes. Emma wipes down the benches, curving her hand to catch loose cocoa powder and white sugar before it falls onto the floor. There’s still half an hour to the end of Emma’s shift, because for once she isn’t on close, and she’s very much ready to try and fall asleep.

Try being the key word. Something tells her she’s not actually going to fall asleep till one in the morning, for one reason or another.

So she thinks about Henry instead. Innocent little Henry, with his wide eyes and mousy-brown hair and chubby cheeks. Caught between the crosshairs of his parents’ bitter feud. And when — _if_ they eventually divorce, it’s clear he’d belong to one of them and one of them alone. 

As a child, Emma had a clear mindset. Both parents or nothing. But with the little she’s seen from Regina, and the little she’s heard of her so-called husband, she found herself desperately hoping Regina would have Henry. 

Because a small part of her found herself imagining the possibilities of raising Henry alongside her.

And she hated that she couldn’t deny any part of it.

_Sigh_. She really is hopelessly in love now, isn’t she? Hopeless, because she was certain that Regina would _never_ like her like that. 

And there’s no way her dreams would come true, not even if her own fairy godmother bippity-boppity-boo’d them.

Beside her, Red’s eager smile died down to a solemn one. Because _shit, her best friend was in love with a married straight woman,_ and she knew exactly how that felt.

The last person in the cafe got up and thanked them, and when Red turned back to Emma, she saw the blonderub listlessly at the same spot for minutes now, with a single tear rolling down her cheek.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my twitter / curiouscat is @oceansregina <3


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi :~)
> 
> i just want to apologise - i'm 80% sure everyone who is continuing to read this mess (ily btw !!!) thinks that's what is is - a mess. like i said in an earlier chapter, i'm just doing this for fun and i love writing the interactions between regina and emma and emma and henry but as for an actual plot ???? idk. it's whatever comes out of my head the moment i write.
> 
> i really don't like sticking to a rigid structure for story writing because you never know where the plot can take you !!!! that' s my excuse. you probably don't agree but oh well, i'm having fun :)
> 
> hope y'all enjoy ~~~

Emma did cry. That night, she did stay up to one, or maybe even two, she wasn’t too sure. She did feel pretty numb even when she woke up, her face puffy and red and her eyes crusty and sore.

Emma hasn’t cried like that in _years_. Especially over a woman.

The weird thing is, she’s not entirely sure what about Regina she’s crying about. The fact that she can easily tease the woman and enjoy her company at the same time. The way she said her name. Henry. The fact that she’s going through some shit right now and Emma isn’t the Saviour Henry’s got engraved into his mind. Because Emma’s been through shit all her life and she’s still not sure how to help anyone but herself because she’s never ever _ever_ been in a relationship or even a friendship so? What does she do?

It’s been a few months and it still feels like they’ve just met.

_No._ They’ve moved onto the next stepping stone, remember? Emma said so herself, and she can’t swallow her own words. 

So she has a hot shower, bothers to dry and brush her hair, and dabs a bit of red-tinted lip gloss so that her lips wouldn’t look like death had kissed her. If there’s anything her past had taught her, it’s that she’s determined. To survive back then, to make this — Regina and Emma — work now.

It’s a Saturday, and Granny’s let Emma have her day off, so she heads to Regina’s house. She’s been there once but she still remembers the way, still remembers how grand and majestic and _lonely_ Regina’s house had looked.

This time, there’s a black limousine on the driveway. Sleek, elegant, screams wealth — Emma feels her heart stop. Maybe she should turn back now, before —

“Emma!”

She’s stuck to the ground, but Henry’s running out the door and almost tackles her to the pavement. Thankfully, she’s stronger than she looks. His hair is gelled up and he’s wearing a black bowtie and it makes him look older, almost like a different person altogether. It’s the icing on the corner of his lips that ruins the very formal attire. All the more reason for her to turn around and leave now.

“Hey, kid,” she chuckles, resting her hands on his shoulders because she can’t ruffle his sticky hair. “I was, uh, just passing! Your mother have guests or something?”

“Yeah,” he huffs. “Grandma is here.”

Emma recalls Henry’s fast-paced story about Regina’s mother; she’s the Queen of Hearts according to him. Heartless. Cruel. And, with Henry’s out-of-character costume and the limousine, scarily wealthy too.

Emma’s not sure she wants to meet this woman right now.

But, as fate would have it, “Emma?”

_Shit shit shit shit shit._

Regina is at the doorway, hands on hips and very… _nervous_? It’s a strange juxtaposition, because Regina only has three moods, flustered, stubborn or happy. Nervousness doesn’t seem like it’d be a trait Regina would have, especially in front of Emma (because let’s be real, Emma is the nervous one. Apparently).

Emma’s about to respond when there’s another voice at the doorway, sharp and cutting straight to the chase. “Ah, was this the woman Henry was talking about, dear?”

Emma feels Henry reach for her hand and clutches it tightly.

“H-Henry,” Regina says, “bring Miss Swan to us.”

_So we’re back to the ‘Miss Swan.’_ But she can’t be mad at that, not when Henry tugs her towards the big house and Regina refuses to look at her in the eye. Regina’s mother looks nothing her like daughter, Emma notes mentally. Regina’s eyes have a soft intensity to them, but her mother’s? Cold, empty, and feel like literal daggers. Emma can feel the goosebumps underneath her red jacket.

The older woman purses her thin lips in a way that somehow makes Emma stand a little straighter. “So you’re the woman my grandson has been going on about all lunch. Was this planned, Regina? You didn’t tell me you were having guests over the same time I would be here.”

“No!” Emma answers for her, but the weak glare she gets from Regina makes her wish she shut her mouth. “I mean, no, uh, as I was telling Henry, I was just passing by. Uh… I’m actually just on a morning run, nothing too important, uh…”

“Why, you must be feeling awfully tired!” Her mother says, but she’s looking at Henry, who cowers slightly into Emma’s body. “Why don’t you join us anyway, Miss Swan.” She had it posed as a statement, not a question, and Emma was already uneasy at this entire interaction.

Why did this had to happen on her the one day she had off work?

“Oh no, you honestly don’t have to, Ms, uh, Mills!”

“Cora.”

“Pardon?”

“My name?” She sniffs. “It’s Cora.”

“Oh.” Emma rocks on the balls of her feet, tucking the curl she spent time and energy on perfecting behind her ear. “Cora. Uh…I don’t mean to ruin… a family get-together…”

“Please, I insist! Henry dear, go set up a place for Miss Swan at the table.”

The boy nods quickly and scampers off into the dining room. Cora follows him; Emma wonders if she’s the kind of woman who has an unnecessary need to make sure the knives are on the left, the forks on the right, and that every napkin is perfectly folded into some elaborate swan. Emma glances at Regina, staring intently at a spot in the timber flooring. She forces herself to hold back from sighing too loudly at the sight of her.

She doesn’t even look flustered. She looks… ashamed. Afraid. Henry wasn’t kidding when he said this woman was scary because Emma felt intimidated… as if Regina’s mother knew something about Emma that she herself didn’t. No wonder Regina seemed off.

Emma desperately wanted to wrap her arms around her and keep her safe from the nasty words hidden behind narrowed eyes and pursed lips. 

“Well,” Regina says quietly, “I’ll lead you inside.”

“Regina —” Emma says, just as she turns her back to her. Regina looks over her shoulder, the look of a nervous deer captured in her expression. Emma’s not sure what she was going to say, so she clears her throat, and asks, “did you want me to take my shoes off?”

“Don’t bother.” And then, with a very empty laugh, “no matter how many times I clean the floor, it’ll always be dirty in her eyes.”

Emma, oh Emma — she has no idea how to respond to something as depressing as that.

…

She’s pretty sure they were having a five-course meal with everything already on the table before Emma unfortunately got herself tangled up in this mess. The only things missing were the personalised butlers and a champagne-coloured dress on Emma’s body. Or maybe it was just a very large, excessive meal for three, now four. After all Emma’s meals usually consist of whatever she can be bothered to make and whatever she can find.

The table was beautifully decorated, Emma had to admit. The wicker basket was lined with a tea towel and golden-brown bread rolls still steaming from the top, and the plate of butter was almost carved into a perfect rectangular prism. There was a bowl of garden salad, the greens verdant and the tomatoes cherry, and a caesar salad, where Emma was certain this would not be an appropriate time to only pick the croutons from the rest. Thinly-sliced ham and chicken were on separate plates nearby, as well as a dish of hot lasagna with something bright red sprinkled on top of the melted cheese. It all looked delicious and Emma wondered if Regina made all of this herself.

As she’s sitting at the table, fingers switching from tapping on her lap to fiddling with the silver zip of her red jacket, she’s momentarily distracted by the peridot necklace around her neck. It’s pretty and does all the sparkly things in the light but it’s chunky and awkward and not very… elegant? For Regina? Emma frowns; she’s not the kind of person to get caught up with fashion and beauty and whatnot but Regina looks like the kind of person who wears more simplistic necklaces, like a single ruby hanging from her neck.

“It’s very pretty, isn’t it?” Emma has to blink and remind herself that _Regina’s mother_ was with them. Flustered, she laughs and nods her head. “Robin gave it to her as a gift —”

“As a bribe. To win me over or shut me up,” Regina interrupts, but Emma’s not sure if that was directed towards her or her mother. Henry pushes the knife a little too hard into the bread roll he has on his plate that it makes a very loud sound. Emma wants to sink into the Egyptian rug under the table and preferably lose herself in the desert than be apart of this… conversation.

Cora narrows her eyes at the red-faced child before looking at her daughter. “Now, Regina, I’m not sure why you’re making such a fuss over this.” Cora snaps her head to Emma and Emma immediately feels herself straighten up. “I presume you know all about this, Miss Swan? Henry tells me how you work at that _Granny’s Diner_.” She shakes her head in what Emma feels is disapproval, “and how my daughter is always in there. Regina, I’ve taught you how to make coffee, and I sent you some very expensive coffee mixes earlier this year. Have you used them?”

“Not yet, Mother,” Regina mutters, “I’ve been too busy.”

“Ruining a perfectly good relationship and spending time with some barista.”

Emma suddenly forgets about being intimidated, rather, her annoyance levels begin to peak. Cora catches this and smirks. 

“Sorry dear, Regina has never spent time with… people such as yourself.” 

“Mother —”

“Now, now, Regina, I’m just making myself clear to your friend here.”

Emma feels a tiny foot on her leg, and she catches Henry’s eye. Cora, because of course she does, picks up on it, immediately turning her attention to her grandson.

“Henry, what have I taught you about kicking people from under the table?”

He bows his head in shame and resumes his bread roll, not before muttering, “sorry, Grandma.”

Cora sighs very, very loudly, as if to emphasise her point about poor behaviours to a child, before looking at her watch. “My, it’s already one! I best be going now, Regina.”

Emma stares at her, then to the table of barely eaten and still hot food, then back to Cora again. Regina catches her opening her mouth and silently begs her not to say anything when Cora has her back turned to them. Emma shuts her mouth immediately.

“It was nice meeting you, Miss Swan,” Cora says, extending her hand once she’s in her personal space. Emma gulps and takes it, feeling the very brief but evident squeeze around her fingers. 

“L-Likewise, Ms Mills — Cora.”

Henry receives a tight hug and a kiss on her cheek, to which he rubs off once his grandmother has moved on to Regina. He locks eyes with Emma and gives her a grimace.

“Do think about what I told you before, Regina,” Cora says at last, kissing her cheek and click-clacking her way to the door. Emma stays at the table as Henry sits back in his seat, the two sitting in silence as they wait for Regina to return.

And when she does, she’s like a different person — no, it’s the Regina Emma knows. The real Regina, who reaches behind her back and dumps the peridot necklace to the table, kicks off her heels and runs a hand through her black hair.

“I’m sorry you had to put up with that, Miss Swan.” And then she sighs, shaking her head, “Emma.”

That brings a smile to Emma’s face. “How long was she here for?”

“An hour.”

Emma’s jaw drops. “But… all this food…”

“Grandma always does it,” Henry replies for her. “She calls Mum up the night before, says she’s coming over, and then Mum goes into panic mode and doesn’t sleep all night because she’s too busy making all this food. And then she doesn’t even finish it!”

She frowns. “Why don’t you just make less food?”

Regina rolls her eyes and huffs. “You just met my mother. Does she look like the kind of person who takes a poorly filled table as acceptable?”

Emma shrinks back into her seat, sighing, “no, I guess not.” Then she looks at the necklace, which really does look better clumped on the table than on Regina’s neck. “And Robin gave you that?”

“He gave it to Mother,” she corrects. “Who then gave it to me. Like I said, it’s a bribe. He thinks I’ll shut up and peacefully let him have Henry if he just gives me nice things.”

“That? Nice? It’s a ‘thing’ at best, Regina. I don’t want to offend, but it doesn’t suit you.”

That puts a small smile on the other woman’s face, which is a success in Emma’s eyes. “And you know so much about fashion, Emma?”

“No, of course not,” she laughs. “I mean, look at me. I curled my hair and put on lip gloss for you. I guess it’s better I did considering who I just met, I’m sure she’d have a heart attack if I looked like my natural self.”

Henry snorts, tearing open another bread roll with his fingers. “Grandma would actually have a heart attack.”

Regina’s smile only widens, shaking her head as she scoops a slice of lasagna onto her plate. “She most definitely would. And you’re right, I hate the necklace. It’s too heavy and… green. I hate green.”

“You’re more of a red person,” Emma murmurs. “Passionate. Intense. I was thinking earlier, when I first saw it, that a single ruby would look much nicer on you.”

She hums, licking her lips. Emma hates that her stomach begins to flutter. “You’re not wrong, Em-ma.”

And there it was. Regina’s becoming comfortable with her. _Acquaintances my ass_ , she thinks with a smile. Not when this woman is speaking her name like a revered angel.

But she doesn’t say anything, mostly because she’s afraid of where the conversation would head towards. She’s happy with this limbo state, and she’s mostly certainly in love.

With this lasagna.

“What the heck, Regina?!” She exclaims, mouth half full behind her hand. “What’s in this stuff?”

“My secret ingredient,” she replies with a wink. “Red pepper flakes.” 

“Mum’s always boasting about it!” Henry adds proudly. “Sometimes I have it for lunch at school and everyone’s always jealous!”

But then Emma catches the narrowing look Regina gives her son. “Henry… what have I said about lying?”

For the second, third (she’s lost count now) time today, Henry looks ashamed. “Sorry, Emma. For lying to you.”

Emma stares, the lasagna feeling like it’s left a burning aftertaste in her mouth. She tries to swallow it down with a glass of cold water Henry must’ve prepared for her too. 

“For… what, exactly?” She cocks her head, eyebrows knitting slightly.

“Henry…” Regina starts, biting her lip. “He doesn’t have many friends at school. Mostly because of me.” When Emma tilts her head, silently asking for more explanation, Regina begins to really hesitate. “The other kids’ mums don’t exactly… like me. With this large, usually empty house. A divorce in the works. They think I cheated my way to the top, like a, um… what’s the word?”

“A gold-digger?” Emma suggests. Then she remembers Henry, and is about to apologise before she looks at the neutral expression on his face. A look that tells her that he’s very used to hearing that about his mother.

“Exactly.” 

“I’m sorry, both of you,” she offers, shaking her head. “You’re definitely not a gold-digger, Regina. How could you be?”

“I inherited this house from my Father, it’s what he left me before he died. I can’t sell it because I’ve had too many memories in here. Good and bad. They’re still memories, and it’s the closest I can get to him sometimes. I miss him so much. And —” she takes a deep breath, “this was where Daniel and I were going to start a family. I can’t lose that part of him too.”

Henry reaches out and touches his mother’s hand, an act so sweet and sad at the same time that it has Emma’s eyes watering. She wishes she can join them, but sitting on opposite sides of the table would make it awkward.

“And now,” she continues, after blinking back tears, “Robin wants to take Henry away from me. The world is constantly wanting to take things from me and I don’t know when it’ll stop. I’ve lost Daddy, I’ve lost Daniel, and I’m almost about to lose my little prince!” She picks up the folded napkin and blows into it. “I just want to win! I just… want to win.”

“Hey, hey, Regina —”

“She’s tired, I think,” Henry notes, getting to his little feet, trying to tug his mother out of the chair. “Mum, come on…”

Emma comes around and wraps one arm around her, helping her up. “Let me, Henry. Can you show me the way to her bedroom?”

“Of course!”

Carefully, and with all her strength, she sweeps Regina into her arms, watching as she curls up into her chest. Henry walks up the stairs in front of them, constantly looking at his mother with wide, sad eyes.

Emma barely has time to admire the bedroom she’s sure is just as beautiful as the rest of the house, focused on getting Regina tucked under the silk sheets and the heavy duvet. She’ll have to suffer sleeping in that dress of hers, because Emma’s not about to go snooping for her nightwear nor is she about to undress her.

_(Now’s not the right time, idiot.)_

“You wanna keep your mum company while I go clean up downstairs?” Emma asks Henry, who nods a little more animatedly now that he’s able to help Regina in some way. “Let me know if she wakes up. You said she’s been awake all night, right?” He nods again. “Try and get her to stay sleep, at least till six or something. She needs rest.”

“Can I come help you once she’s in deep, deep sleep?”

Emma smiles. “Sure, kid. I’m sure your mum would love that too.”

…

She’s standing before the dining table, shrugging her jacket off and hanging it over the back of the closest chair, her hands finding a home on her hips. She wonders if Regina keeps Chinese containers somewhere in the house, because it’d be a shame (and a _huge_ waste, she might add) to toss it all out.

Then again, does Regina look like the kind of person who’d order take-out?

With that in mind, she peeks her head through one doorway and finds herself in the kitchen, white tiled floors and black marble countertops greeting her. It’s more modern compared to the rest of the house, (or at least, the spaces she’s seen so far) and feels very Regina-esque. She’s always in black and white dresses and pantsuits that make her legs longer and smoky but professional makeup, and there’s this dominant vibe she gets from her sometimes…

Okay, dominant is stretching it. Just a bit. Emma looks around for a cup and pours herself a cold drink from the tap. 

But after hearing that this house was inherited from her father, and knowing that there were some very important memories that linger in every piece of furniture… it juxtaposes the whole ‘bad bitch’ vibes, doesn’t it? Plus, said ‘bad bitch’ is upstairs, curled up under a thick duvet while her five-year old son keeps her company, and Emma is downstairs (about to start) cleaning everything up like any good housewife.

Did she just say wife? She meant… friend. Friend. _Friend._

Because they’re friends now, remember! Regina didn’t try to make her leave once her mother left! It’s a start!

Okay. She needs to pull herself together, or Regina’s going to have to clean everything up herself and Emma’s not about to let her waste her well-deserved nap like that. So she starts opening up cupboard doors, familiarising herself with the locations of cups, plates, even the home where the dish for the lasagna seems to live. No takeaway containers to be found just yet.

Emma stops — what did she do if she ran out of (or couldn’t be bothered looking for) plastic containers? 

She pulls open a drawer and finds baking paper, aluminium foil, and — there it is. A personal saviour as well as her most annoying enemy, cling wrap.

Taking the roll out to the dining table, she tears off a long enough piece, fiddles with it to stop it from sticking to itself (and failing miserably, which isn’t too surprising there), before managing to cover the lasagna. And the two salads, though she does make a point to pick out a few cold croutons before doing so. Regina didn’t see it, so therefore, she would never ever know.

An hour later, when Emma’s moved all the covered dishes to the fridge and all the dirty plates and cups to the sink, she hears Henry come skipping down the stairs, a wide smile on his face.

“Mum’s in deep sleep now!” He exclaims proudly, and Emma chuckles.

“You didn’t give her a poisoned apple to help her, did you?”

He pouts, but his eyes are still shiny with delight at Emma’s joke. “Evil Queen, Emma! Snow White eats the poisoned apple!”

“You’ve really got your head in the fairy tales, huh?” She passes him a cup, before realising he’s much too short for the cupboards. “Okay, change of plan, you wash, I’ll stack.”

He pulls out a stool from under the sink when Emma has her back turned, rolling up his sleeves and picking up the sponge Emma was just using. She can’t help but smile at the sight of him, and imagining Regina helping him scrub each plate back to its shiny white state. 

She’s really dipping into _that_ kind of territory today, isn’t she?

“My teacher says that too,” he says, squeezing the soapy sponge into a cup. “I like them though! They’re cool.”

“Your teacher seems nice,” Emma remarks, and he nods eagerly in reply. “The one who gave you that book in the first place, right?” He nods again.

“She’s the only one who doesn’t think Mum is a — a —”

“I know what you’re gonna say,” she interrupts, not sure if she wants to hear such a term from a little kid’s mouth. 

“Yeah.” He sighs, passing her a plate. She it off before stacking it onto the pile of plates, somewhat impressed that he’s actually cleaned it thoroughly. _Perks of having a mother… and grandmother… like that._ “She lets me stay in the classroom sometimes, during break time. It’s much quieter in there.”

“You really have no friends, kid?”

“I have one friend. Her name is Grace, but she’s not always at school. She gets — um — no one likes her because of her dad. There’s something wrong with him.”

“Oh? How?” She asks, before she’s able to restrain herself. _This really isn’t any of my business_.

But Henry’s already in story-teller mode. “He says a lot of funny stuff. _Craaaaaaaaaaaazy_ stuff. I think he’s a bit like the Mad Hatter in my book. Do you know _Alice in Wonderland_?”

“One of my favourites,” Emma admits. There’s a moment she somewhat remembers, at one of the many foster homes she was in, reading it under the sheets at night with a flashlight blinding her sight. She does remember wishing she was Alice falling down that rabbit hole, only, instead of looking for her way back home, she stays there, makes Wonderland her new home —

After all, Emma never really had a home. Wonderland sounded like the perfect place for one. Her neighbour the White Rabbit, having tea parties with the Mad Hatter and Dormouse, one day planning to overthrow the Queen of Hearts and become something like a White Queen, a kinder, more accepting ruler of the land.

“Mine too!” Henry exclaims, her train of thought gone. “But the other kids don’t like it. They think it’s weird. And they think it’s weird that I’m friends with a girl.”

“Well, boohoo to them!” She states, rolling her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with that. With anything you just said, really. We’re all a bit crazy, that’s what the Mad Hatter says, right?”

“It’s crazy to be friends with a girl?”

Emma smiles. “You may not understand it now, but the world you and I live in is very much a crazy place. People say crazy things and think crazy things and do crazy things all the time. They think being friends with a girl is a crazy thing to do. Especially if you don’t see her all the time. But believe me kid, it really isn’t. If that’s what the world thinks, then you tell them to shove off!” She clears her throat. “I mean, don’t actually say that. Especially in front of your mum. Um.”

He giggles, handing her the last cup in his tiny hands. “You’re cool Emma, you know that?”

She has to turn her back and quickly dry off the cup so that he didn’t see the pink she was sure were dappling her cheeks. 

“I’m really not, kid.”

“You are! And I think Mum thinks so too!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. She keeps talking about the time you took us to that carnival. Can we go again, sometime? I don’t know why we had to leave early.”

“Oh — I — um, she really said that?” She folds the tea towel into a neat square, patting it on the counter top. Henry’s busy pushing the stool over to an empty countertop, his feet climbing onto the handles of the drawers as he tries to push himself off. In a panic, she crosses the two long strides it took to get to him and helps him up safely.

“Sometimes I crawl into bed with her if I have a bad dream,” he explains, kicking his feet. “She wants to go on the big spinny thing we were supposed to go on!”

Emma blinks, aware of her very open mouth right now. “She — the ferris wheel? She wants to go on the ferris wheel?”

“That thing! I bet the view is sooo cool!” He exclaims, his arms waving about as if to emphasise the _cool_ nature of the experience. “I know Mum is scared, but with you as our Saviour, nothing will go wrong! She believes in you!”

Emma wonders if Henry’s going to have a career as the world’s next best-selling fairy-tale author when he’s older.

When she doesn’t respond, Henry frowns. “You… believe in Mum too, right? It doesn’t work if you don’t believe in her too.”

“I — what doesn’t work?” But he leaps to the ground, scuttling to the pantry door. “Henry —”

“Do youth want somepf cookies, Emma?” He asks instead, mouth full of chocolate chip cookies. “Mum will never know!”

“Your mum will know with that chocolate stuck in your teeth — hey, wait, what won’t work, Henry?”

“Should we check up on Mum?” He shakes his head, “Actually, I’ll check up on Mum, you make dinner. It’s lasagna night tonight!”

“Henry —!” 

He runs upstairs, his laughing pure torture for Emma. She’s left alone in the kitchen, and she goes to shut the pantry door closed, resting her forehead on it with a slightly irritated sigh.

_Of course I believe in Regina. What difference does that make?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter and curiouscat ! @oceansregina !


	5. five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if i was ever in a relationship,,,,,, i'd be both emma and regina combined. i'm that much of a mess, oops.  
> here's another chapter for y'all, pls enjoy~ <3

Somewhat of a significant difference, as Emma finds out no more than two hours later. Henry is pulling the hand of his pale-faced mother down the stairs, her other hand rubbing at her narrowed eyes. She looks a little healthier under the warm glow of the kitchen lights, but not by very much. The gold and red tones in her skin definitely need more than a measly two hours to show themselves, but Henry’s getting restless and Emma’s not sure how to work her very modern, sophisticated, (unnecessarily) complicated cooktop.

Emma admits that she did freeze up the moment she heard more than a pair of feet clambering down the stairs. She almost felt the cold dish of lasagna start slipping from her hands. Because it _is_ getting dark, and she’s not exactly sure why she’s still here. In Regina’s house. About to try and make dinner.

And she’s not sure how to deal with a barely-awake Regina. She wouldn’t be surprised if Regina would be the grouchy-but-always-up-early half in a relationship. Emma’s the grouchy-but-sleeps-in-an-hour-after-her-alarm type, that’s for sure. But that’s besides the point. It’s the evening, and Regina is forcibly blinking her eyes open in the warm lights, most likely waiting for the floating images around her to merge into one. Henry is jumping onto one of kitchen stools with a smile.

And then — “Emma?” Emma gulps. “Why are you still here?”

“She’s making dinner for us, remember?” Henry answers for her, but to tell you the truth, Emma feels like they’re digging a grave.

Regina frowns. “She… is? Why?”

“Well!” Emma interrupts, laughing nervously, but also giving the side-eye to that little brat. “Well… uh, I’m sure you’re still tired from all that… sleeping. I mean, uh, cooking.” 

If Emma had a dollar for every time she failed to speak like a normal human who makes logical sense —

“ _Riiight_ ,” Regina replies with a long, unimpressed drawl. “Can I ask why the cooktop is on?”

“To heat up the lasagna, of course!”

There’s a pause, a glance towards the cooktop, then to Emma, then the lasagna, then back to the cooktop. 

“Miss Swan… Emma…” 

“Y-Yeah?”

“You know microwaves exist, right.”

“Right!” 

The penny drops. Emma wants to very much disappear right now. She wonders if somehow she managed to fall face-first onto the stove beforehand because she feels like she’s on fire.

“…Right. Microwave. Hah. Haha!” She cries out loud, almost head-banging into the marbled countertop behind her. “I could’ve just microwaved the damn stuff! Oh for God’s sake —”

“You are a bit weird,” Regina muses, but she’s not angry, or upset, and when Emma manages to pull her shit together, there’s an amused smile beneath her tired eyes. “Well, at least you know for next time.”

_Next time._ There’s going to be a next time in Emma’s future. Did Regina even sleep?

Nonetheless, Henry wasn’t kidding. Well, almost. There’s no denying it — Regina doesn’t hate her. She’s not sure about believing in Emma (what even is there to believe in? Her ability to wear the same red leather jacket for a week?), but she doesn’t hate her. 

Emma wonders how many stones they’ve stepped on to make it this far in such a short amount of time.

She wonders if all that late night hoping actually helped. It’s not like she believed fate waved its fancy little wand around and threw magic dust over them. She just believed in her own patience.

Because she could see it paying off. As she stood in Regina Mills’ kitchen, watching her cut three slices of lasagna to put on a large plate, tapping at buttons on the microwave, turning around, smiling. The buzz of the machine behind her head. The orange lights inside, heating the food and if this was anywhere else, with anybody else, Emma would’ve never taken her eyes off her food.

No.

Regina… Regina just so happens to be standing in the way. Emma is staring at the lasagna she could’ve heated up herself if only she was smart enough to open her eyes: dark eyes, pretty eyelashes, red lips pursed into the most attractive looking pout —

_The lasagna, idiot._

Lasagna. Yes. What the hell is she going on about, looking at Regina like that? Emma breathes in, trying to keep the butterflies in check, but —

What did lasagna look like, again?

“Mum? Emma? The microwave’s done and I’m _huuuuuungry_!”

Emma immediately feels herself stand to attention. Regina seems to have been in some sort of daze too, because she’s blinking and looking around, as if trying to remember where she was. 

She almost catches the nervous look on Regina’s face as she turns around, before it’s hidden by a curtain of dark, messy curls. There’s only one word that forces its way into Emma’s mind and pounds at her temples, starting with ‘g’ and ending with ‘uilt,’ and there’s no way, no way at all that Regina is looking…guilty?

The pursed lips. Fluttering eyes. Emma thought she had maybe imagined it out of… of… lust. For the food. Swirling around in a heated machine behind Regina. She was hungry. 

Besides, whatever could Regina be looking guilty for? There was nothing going on. Emma’s just here to help out a newfound friend from collapsing. Because friends do that.

When a plate hovers before her, thick steam clouding up and the smell of mouth-watering lasagna forcing her hands to take the plate from Regina’s soft hands, she gulps.

Because there’s a hint of apple and cinnamon wafting through the air, and Emma’s sure it’s not coming from the lasagna or Henry.

…

To Emma’s surprise, Regina followed Henry into the living room, where he somehow collapsed on to the beanbag lying on the floor without spilling his dinner everywhere. Emma padded behind them, fork resting inside her mouth because _goddamn_ , that sauce was nice.

“We always do this after Grandma comes over!” Henry tells Emma with a huge grin. Regina sits on one side of the couch, and for modesty (or some bullshit like it), Emma sits herself on the other end. And then Regina kicks off her slippers and tucks her legs in under her. 

“You look like me every other day of the week,” Emma teases, struggling to ignore how… _soft_ … Regina looks right now. 

And then she internally cringes because _soft_? _Soft_?! Why is that the only adjective to come to mind first? 

'Elegant’ would be more appropriate, she thinks. Her toenails are painted black and her nails are left bare, shaped to a smooth curve and shiny. Emma dares to peek at her own hands, tiny scars next to a few nails from when she used to bite them, back when she struggled to stand up for herself.

And Regina’s hair, in bouncy little curls that looked effortless and deliberate at the same time. She only woke up, what, half an hour ago? If this was Regina’s ‘bedhead,’ Emma’s not sure she can apply the same term to her own monster of hair in the mornings. Besides, Regina’s changed into a silk button-down blouse and some matching pants, what she can only assume is her nightwear, and she’s not wearing a bra (it was one look!) and she’s definitely sprayed perfume on, for some reason.

So Regina’s stunning. Emma knew that, the moment she looked at her walk into Granny’s diner. 

Biting into the last bit of her dinner, she wonders if it’s because she’s starting to really know her. She knows Regina isn’t some perfect, ethereal goddess; she’s seen her cry, met her intimidating mother (unintentionally), carried her barely-conscious self to bed. Maybe that’s why she thinks of ‘soft.’ When she looks at her, watches the way she smiles at her son as he tells them both about his art project at school… and then juxtaposes that to the way she yelled and glared so coldly at Emma that night, before the ferris wheel… as well as the way her eyes shone with tears, her nose red and her mouth trembling, the strong, ‘bad-bitch’ look crumbling before Emma’s very eyes…

In a mere number of months, she’s seen more of Regina than she’ll ever see of Emma.

Emma.

How did she look before Regina’s eyes, she wonders? Was she just some dumb blonde who happened to work in a café, pushy and insensitive and barging into her life so carelessly? Who couldn’t do anything but let Emma do so? And compared to Regina, she was a peasant, and probably always would be.

Sure, Emma didn’t care much for appearances; it wasn’t a priority as a kid, at least, not after turning fifteen. Kids, especially foster kids — they wouldn’t be cute forever, and Emma learnt the world cared so much for looks. She watched as her admittedly more pretty friend get adopted, so what was the point? 

She’d run away from it all anyway. 

She has no idea what Red goes on about whenever they somehow land on the topic of fashion. Too many trends that Emma struggles to keep on top of. In her opinion, half of the things Red wore to stay ‘on-trend’ looked stupid anyway. Red’s pretty too, don’t get her wrong, but seriously? Low-rise jeans are not it, and never really were. The red streaks in her hair are somewhat questionable at times, especially in a quaint little cafe like _Granny’s Diner_.

So even if there was a chance, a teeny-tiny minuscule chance that Regina liked her as much as Emma, she’d have no idea what the reason for that would be. 

Wait.

“What the hell am I going on about…?” She mutters, shaking her head.

“Emma?”

She looks up with a start, meeting two sets of curious eyes on her. Her face reddens. 

“Uh, don’t mind me. Just… talking to myself.” She reclines into the back of the couch, empty plate resting on her lap.

“Were you listening to me at all, Emma?” Henry asks, eyes retreating into vague puppy-dog eyes that shouldn’t be allowed to look this cute for a five-year old. 

“I was, I swear!” Emma protests, but she could feel the eyebrow raise from Regina and she sinks further into the seat. “Okay, so I might’ve heard ‘art project’ and kinda… spaced out.”

He sighs. “It does sound kinda boring now.”

Regina suddenly looks very angry at Emma and Emma jumps from the couch, placing the plate on the coffee table and sitting cross-legged beside Henry. 

“Hey, no, don’t say that! You’re the most creative kid I know!”

“I’m the only kid you know.”

“I — Okay, you’re the only kid I know. But Henry… you’re so, so smart. When you’re older you’ll be smarter than I’ll ever be in my lifetime. I’m sorry I wasn’t listening, I promise it wasn’t because I was bored, I was, um, bothered… by something. But that’s besides the point, I know in my heart whatever your art project is? It’s going to blow your teacher’s mind!”

“Really?” He asks, voice lit by a feather of hope.

“Really,” Emma replies with a gentle smile.

Regina clears her throat then, and the anger Emma briefly saw is replaced by a similar gentle smile. “Henry, I think it’s time for bed.”

“Awww, I wanna stay up!”   
“Henry…”

“Is Emma staying over? Is she having breakfast with us?”

Emma and Regina exchange glances. Emma… sleeping in Regina Mills’ house for the night…

“I — I should probably start heading off, to be honest,” Emma quickly says, laughing nervously as she stands up. Regina stands up at the same time, much to Emma’s confusion.

“A — Are you sure?” She asks, and is that… worry in her voice? “It’s pretty dark out there, and you didn’t drive…”

“I’ll be fine!” Emma says, smiling, but inside, she panics. She’s right, because Emma _did_ walk here — how is it that she managed to stay here for more than seven hours? But Storybrooke isn’t exactly the world’s most dangerous town, she’s lived in far worse, but she never likes to take her chances.

But she also doesn’t want to make Regina use her energy to prepare a bed for her. Her house… was large enough to have a guest bedroom, surely. She wasn’t about to sleep in Regina’s bed, heaven forbid her nerves that would come into play. Maybe she could sleep on the couch? 

“Emma, I…” Her fingers start to intertwine with one another almost shyly, and Emma’s not really sure how she feels about this entire conversation about to unfold. “I… don’t know…”

“Don’t know?” Emma probes, because if Emma can’t admit to it herself, maybe getting Regina to say it will make her feel better.

“I don’t know… if…”

“What if Emma gets taken away by a scary alien from outer space? The Evil Queen can’t fly! We’d need to build a rocket, but I don’t think I have enough Lego blocks to build a rocket that can fit all three of us!”

Emma blinks. She completely forgot about Henry, who was still in the room, watching the both of them… act like _this_. Whatever _this_ is.

“She _has_ to stay over, Mum! Pretty please? Pretty, pretty, _pretty please_?”

…

And of course Regina can’t say no to her son.

So that’s how Emma finds herself tucking in a thick duvet into the side of the couch so that it doesn’t fall off in the middle of the night. There was a tiny argument between Regina and Emma, over where Emma was supposed to sleep but, Emma thinks with a smile, it was worth seeing the look on her face when Emma won the couch over making Regina prepare the guest room for her.

As one could guess, Regina’s not the type to lose arguments, so when she came down the stairs and shoved a blanket and pillow into Emma’s face, Emma couldn’t help but tease her for it. By teasing, she really means laughing right back at Regina and watching her nostrils flare in irritation, her eyebrows knitting together, cheeks blossoming into a flushed red. 

…Well, that’s what she imagined in her head.

Regina does shove the duvet and pillow at her, but in reality, Emma takes it with a grateful smile. She was shifting her weight from one foot to the other in anticipation before, fingers intertwining, teeth catching onto her bottom lip. Excluding the times she’s been adopted by a temporary family and slept in a spare room for the night before deciding she wasn’t it, the first and only time she’s had a sleepover (that’s what you call this, right?) was probably when the pretty friend invited her to her new adopted family’s home. She remembers playing video games, something she could never do at the foster home because all the younger kids would claim the controllers for themselves, and having midnight snacks, and laughing into the early hours of the next day. 

Do adults have sleepovers too? Do they play video games and have midnight snacks and laugh into the early hours too? 

Regina hasn’t said anything, but she isn’t going back upstairs either. And she can feel her staring as Emma tucks in the duvet. Possibly questioning her ability to even sleep on a couch. Meanwhile, Henry has been upstairs for a long time now, probably changing into pjs and cleaning his teeth, and it occurs to Emma that she isn’t exactly prepared for a sleepover, for lack of a better term.

“Right,” she says, straightening up. “Um, do you happen to have a spare —”

“Upstairs. In the guest bedroom.” Regina replies bluntly. She’s still staring at her though. 

Emma laughs awkwardly and starts to walk around Regina, but then she feels a warm hand wrap around her wrist, holding her tightly. Emma looks over her shoulder, seeing the back of Regina, but her very hand around hers.

“Are you… seriously… going to wear… that jacket to bed? And jeans?”

“W-What’s wrong with that?”

She finally moves her head, lips pouting. Emma has to gulp and hope it wasn’t audible. And then Regina sighs, tugging Emma upstairs like some kind of mildly irritated teenager. They stop in front of Regina’s bedroom, and Emma wonders if she’s ever going to get her hand back. Regina seems to be thinking about something, something she assumes is along the thought process of whether to bring Emma into her room or not (woah, slow down there…), and then Regina sighs again and pulls her inside.

“Wait there,” is all she says, before she walks towards her large black dresser. Emma leans against the wall next to the door, taking a better look at her room considering she didn’t have time too before. And then — “Do you get cold during the night?”

“Uh, Regina, honestly, you don’t need to worry, I’ll be fine,” Emma tries to say, but Regina ignores her, pointedly glaring at her instead. “Okay, okay! Um… shorts and a shirt will be fine.”

There’s a weird kind of silence that begins to creep through the air. Regina is very still, and Emma hates that by clearing her throat, she sounds like the loudest noise in the entire street. Because it seems to occur to both of them that this is Regina, and Regina…

Regina… would be the kind of person… who’d wear… more… _luxury_ … intimates _._

It’s even worse when Regina turns around again, holding a sheer camisole and some silk shorts with a lace trim, her cheeks a very, very ashamed red. Emma can feel her eye twitching at the sight of them; she’s sure they’re supposed to be shorts… on Regina, obviously. Emma may as well skip it and wear her underwear because _that_ was going to cover _nothing_.

“Well,” Emma says, covering the second-hand embarrassment behind a weak cough. What the hell was she supposed to say in this situation? “They’re, um, nice.”

When Emma said she wanted a relationship with Regina, she was sure she told her brain that a relationship meant friendship.

Not a romantic relationship, because Regina has a son and an ex-husband and a gone-but-not-forgotten soulmate, and if that doesn’t scream heterosexuality at its finest she doesn’t know what will. And remember, what help is Emma to her anyway? Look at the mess she’s in now.

“S-Sorry,” Regina mutters, shoving them back into the drawer. “I don’t think… no, I don’t think I’ve got anything for you to wear. Unless…”

Emma’s head perks up, watching Regina stand up and walk to the wardrobe (of course it’s walk-in, but at this point Emma shouldn’t be surprised.) She pulls out a very large t-shirt that could probably two Regina’s inside of it, and a pair of boxer shorts that she physically pulls a face at. Clothes that could only belong to none other than —

“Robin.”

“Mhm,” Regina nods her head, and even though it’ll most likely fit Emma better than what Regina has to offer, there’s something about the name that’s attached to the clothes that Emma feels strangely disgusted about. 

“Wouldn’t he mind?” She asks anyway.

“Not at all,” Regina sighs, leaning against the doorframe, staring at Emma. “He took all his clothes. Except for a few.”

She’s not sure why she resonates with a discarded piece of clothing. And she hates that she even feels such a thing. Maybe she should suck it up and wear Regina’s clothes because she does look uncomfortable even looking at the clothing, and Emma’s not sure she wants to be a walking target for those looks. Besides, don’t girls do this at sleepovers too? When one forgets their pjs, one of the others will lend them a spare? 

_How old are you again, Emma?_

Her mind has a point.

But her mouth is saying otherwise.

“I’ll take them, thank you.”

Emma hates the betrayal, but she also hates the strange look on Regina’s face. Disappointment? She blinks. Her heart is not needed right now, but she can’t ignore the nagging sensation when Emma takes the clothes from Regina’s hands that Regina is disappointed with her.

For what, exactly, Emma’s come up with a whole list of reasons as to why.

And she’s not sure which one’s the correct answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me @oceansregina on twitter or curiouscat uwu


	6. six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soft and awkward sq out and about ~ :~)

Emma won’t lie, the smell of pine cones on the shirt made her question Robin’s… interests. Henry had told her how Robin made him practice archery, so she assumed he was a very outdoorsy-type of guy. She knows the whole _opposites attract_ thing exists sometimes, but him and Regina? How the hell did they have any chemistry together? _And_ have a kid?

Looking in the mirror, she did appreciate the length of the shirt, long enough to reach the middle of her thighs, a thick band of black from her shorts peeking underneath. She also spotted a tray full of various perfumes on the vanity and looked over her shoulder, the door of the bathroom closed, despite knowing Regina was probably in bed on the other side, waiting for her to leave. So, as quietly as she could manage, she took each bottle and brought it to her nose, searching for _it_.

It didn’t help that all the bottles were red or black. And they were all musky, spicy scents, nothing like the sweet, fruity one she’d become somewhat familiar with.

“Emma?” Three knocks on the door. She froze, one bottle in her hand, and if Regina opened the door right now she’d be kicked right out. Maybe even killed, because these were most likely expensive bottles of perfume, and — “Emma? Are you okay in there?”

“Y-Yeah, sorry, I was, uh, brushing my hair.”

“Your hair?” A pause. “You’re going to bed? You’re not using my brush, are you?”

“N-No!” Emma exclaims, the almost yell hopefully enough to hide the way she almost slammed the bottle back into the tray. And then she frantically starts waving her hands around because she accidentally spritzed a little of it and _goddamn_ was it strong; _oh GOD_ she was screwed. And then she realised that Regina was probably waiting for her to come out right now so she sighed, picked up her own clothes from the floor, and steeled her for the inevitable, a trail of spice following her and _seriously_ , all she wanted was to smell that one perfume for herself and wear Regina’s clothes but she smells of spice and pinecones and honestly? She’s not sure if this day could be considered a success or not.

Most likely not, judging from the raised eyebrow on Regina’s face and the folded arms across her chest as she opens the door, and of _course_ Emma’s first thought was _wow, that’s kinda hot_.

“You took a long time in there,” she states plainly.

“Lots of hair!” Emma remarks, tossing her obviously knotted hair over her shoulders. It’s a weak lie and they both knew that. Emma just wants to know what Regina really thought she was doing it there. It wasn’t like she was… doing _bad things_. Well, she was, but that couldn’t possibly be in the same context as _other_ bad things, like —

“Right.” She steps back, her eyes gazing up and down Emma’s body. She’s glad the room is somewhat dark, so Regina doesn’t see the goosebumps on her skin, and the look of imagining _other_ scenarios with a dark room with a pretty woman on Emma’s face. “It kinda looks like a dress on you.”

It’s almost innocently cute, the way she says that. Dare she say it — _soft_ , too. Regina’s range of emotions confuse and captivates Emma to the point where she’s not even sure if Regina actually tolerates her.

Emma’s not sure what else to say, so she decides to take her leave. Before she imagines something like tension to fill the room and she _hates_ tension. Especially when her imagination decides to imagine the worst kind of tension to exist and she can’t even do anything about it. Not by herself, not here, in fact, if she was in her own bed right now she was sure she’d be long gone in it by now.

“The guest room is next to Henry’s room,” Regina says into the silence. “I-In case you were wondering.”

“Cool, thanks Regina.” She clutches the handle of the door, and, with a certain smile, “Night!”

Her eyes widen, and Emma wonders if Robin ever said ‘good night’ before they went to bed. She knows Henry does, but that’s because it’s Henry, and he’s a sweetheart at best. But a pair of lovers, that’s like, the right thing to do, right?

She barely catches the soft ‘good night’ as she leaves the room.

…

Emma finds the guest bedroom just fine, manages to clean her teeth and splash her face with a bit of cold water to stop the shame from seeping through the pores of her skin. What she really needs is a cold shower, but she’s not about to waste more of Regina’s pretty generous hospitality and resources.

And then she creeps downstairs and to the living room, where a single lamp lit up the area and her makeshift bed awaited her. Only, said makeshift bed was occupied, she quickly discovered, by a little boy snoring, a fluffy blue teddy bear in his arms.

She thought about carrying him back to his room, but the sight of the stairs, now enshrouded by darkness, and the sleeping boy all but made Emma herself suddenly feel very, very exhausted. With a sigh, she gently nudges Henry’s shoulder, hoping to wake him up just a little.

It doesn’t take that long to get him to stir. “Mhm… Emma?” He mumbles, rubbing his eyes. 

“Yeah kid, it’s me,” she whispers in response.

He gives her a smile, pushing himself upright. “I was waiting for you to come down,” he explains quietly. “I wanted you to tell me a story.”

“I’m not very good at stories, you know that kid?”

“I like hearing bad stories too!” Emma laughs, rolling her eyes as she sits beside him. “Can we make a pillow fort?”

“I don’t think your mum will appreciate the noise we’ll make, nor the mess.”

He pouts, and he looks just like Regina when he does so. _Like mother, like son_ , she smiles. 

Sleep begins to nudge at her senses, and she knows it’s what she should be doing, but she refuses to fall asleep before Henry. So she blinks herself awake (feeling like a madwoman as she does so), watching as Henry rests against her arm, playing with the arms of his bear.

“Hey, kid.”

“Mhm?”

“You’re not going to try and run away again, are you?”

“What do you mean? I like being with you, Emma.”

She smiles, stroking his hair. “Earlier. You said something won’t work if I didn’t believe in Re — in your mum. That she believes in me, and I need to believe in her? What did you mean by that?”

There’s no sign of movement, so at least he’s not physically avoiding the question. She wonders if he’s fallen asleep instead. But then —

“You just need in believe in her. She’s lonely. No one believes in her anymore.”

“She has you!”

He yawns. “I’m just a kid,” he mumbles, “just a kid…”

_A kid? Henry, you’re her son —_

“Henry —”

“I’m not her son,” he continues. Emma starts to feel her heart pound her being to full consciousness. “I’m adopthid.”

“ _Adopthid_?” She repeats. Her eyes widen. “Adopted. Henry, you were a foster kid?”

“Mhm,” he responds. 

_Why? How?_

“Mum told me she can’t have kids like me with water in her eyes once,” he continues. “It was supposed to be Mummy, Daddy and me. Then Daddy died. Sometimes, Mum gets really sad when she sees me. It’s even worse now.”

The pieces Emma didn’t realise she was collecting were now starting to fall into place. Regina couldn’t even have kids of her own. And at almost midnight, Emma felt a single tear fall onto her crossed legs. Henry was the foster kid Emma always wished she was — adopted as soon as she was born, almost. He had this huge house, loving parents, she should be jealous of him.

But she can’t. She can’t ever be jealous of this little boy and she’s not sure if it’s because she’s grown attached to his charisma or because he was supposed to be a symbol of love for Regina and Daniel and now he’s just a reminder of the happy life Regina could’ve had but lost and it _hurts_. There’s pain everywhere Emma looks and she walked right into it; she can’t even do anything to help and that hurts too.

Henry’s still important to Regina. He’s still her son, adopted or not, a painful reminder or not. What she can’t figure out is Robin. Henry was, what, five? Six? How long ago did Regina remarry to this man? It’d have to be recent, if Henry somewhat understood what was going on. Maybe a year ago, when Henry was four?

Surely, nobody marries somebody after less than a year of meeting someone. Especially when they’re going through a divorce right now. What kind of happy ending is that?

“You’ll save us, right Emma? You’ll make everything better again?”

She looks at this boy, this boy who shouldn’t be asking questions like this at his age. Questions Emma’s not sure she can answer honestly, not when he’s balancing a fine line between fiction and reality.

_‘You’re the Saviour, Emma.’_

She hates the crack in her voice when she answers, “I’ll do my best, kid.”

…

“A- _hem_.”

Emma groans, a dull pain in her neck and lower back. Somebody keeps clearing their throat and she’s tempted to throw a pillow at them.

She’s glad she’s got the sense to open her eyes first, because it’s Regina, towering over the couch unimpressed.

“Miss Swan. Glad to see you’re awake,” she glances next to Emma. She’s suddenly very aware of a warm presence against her. “…With my son.”

“Good morning to you too,” she mutters, rolling her eyes as she stretches. “He was sleeping on the couch after I finished cleaning my teeth.”

Regina can’t help but sigh. “Of course. He’s taken a liking to you, Miss Swan.”

“I see getting a good night’s rest has removed your ability to say my first name again,” she remarks sarcastically.

Regina glares at her. “Fine. _Emma_.”

“Aw, how considerate of you!”

“You are definitely _not_ getting chocolate sauce on your pancakes.”

Emma pauses. Beside her, Henry flings himself upright, jumping to his feet. “Pancakes? We’re having pancakes for breakfast?!”

“ _And_ cereal, Henry. You’re not skipping cereal.”

“But _Mummmm_ ,” he whines, “it’s Sunday! And Emma’s here! You never make pancakes!”

“It’s not good for you,” she sniffs. Emma watches as her mouth relaxes into a small smile just for him. “But _we’re_ making your favourite ones.”

“We get to help out?!” Henry almost screams. “You’re the best, Mum!”

“Can I boldly interrupt and ask what pancakes are your favourite? I thought they were all the same.”

Regina and Henry look at one another, then laugh. Emma’s cheeks go pink at being laughed at, but watching them act so like one another is cute enough to be forgivable. Was Henry really adopted?

“Oh Emma,” Regina sighs wistfully, “I’m about to show you magic.”

Emma does _not_ want to explain her internal reactions to that. So she won’t.

“Mum’s pancakes are the best in the world! They might even be better than her lasagna!”

“Henry!” Regina mockingly scolds. “Don’t ruin the surprise! Let Miss Swan see for herself.”

Emma is still caught up in Regina plus showing plus magic plus saying that in a very inviting tone of voice to even bother correcting her.

…

It’s a pancake mix.

Regina’s ‘magic trick’ is having the ability to precisely measure enough water for the dry mix inside so that when it’s shaken up and cooked in a pan consistently coated in butter (courtesy of Henry), it creates fluffy, thick, golden-yellow buttermilk pancakes.

But it may as well be magic melting in her mouth. And the smile on Regina’s face when Henry tells her how much he loves the pancakes is very pretty. That’s pretty much magic too, right?

“Emma,” Regina says, and with a fright Emma shoves the half-eaten pancake into her mouth. She raises an eyebrow at the sight of her. “Did you just eat a plain pancake?”

“Whaaat?!” Henry cries. “No butter? Syrup? Ice-cream?”

“Or berries or honey?” Regina adds. Emma swallows and laughs nervously.

“Oops. There’s still heaps left, so I’ll put some ice-cream on the next one —”

“Henry, go get the other pancake mix from the pantry,” Regina cuts in.

“Yesss, more pancakes!”

“May as well,” Regina explains to a very bewildered Emma. “There’s three of us now, and there’s no way Henry’s going to have cereal. We should’ve done this after breakfast.”

Emma tries to ignore the ‘now’ after ‘three of us’ because that almost sounds like Regina’s gone completely soft and is actually tolerating Emma in their home. Or, she’s gone completely mad, because she doesn’t even sound angry or annoyed at the fact that her son isn’t having cereal like he should, nor did she even try to tell him to have cereal when they all walked into the kitchen together.

They’ve been making pancakes since Emma and Henry woke up. Forty minutes ago.

“Can I trust you, Emma, to fill the bottle with water up to the line?” Regina asks. “You need to shake it first, for exactly two minutes. It’s nine-thirty-five now, so at nine-thirty seven, you can add water. And no stopping, it must be consistent shaking…”

“Got it, madam mayor,” Emma jokes, watching as Henry uses all his strength to shake the mix. “But I’m afraid your plan’s already ruined.”

Henry and Emma laugh as Regina rolls her eyes, muttering something about ‘kids being kids’ under her breath. The huge grin Henry gives her is precious as Emma mixes the bottle for him, and the way he eagerly fetches his stool to reach the tap is just as cute. Emma crouches before the sink so she can see the level of the water inside, telling Henry to stop the tap once the water reaches the line on the packaging.

“I’m surprised you both didn’t manage to overflow it,” says Regina, who’s busy watching over the pancakes thickening in the pan, flipping them over at regular two minute intervals. 

“You _clearly_ have lots of faith in us,” Emma muses with a grin. She’s literally pounding the air with the bottle, feeling it begin to strain her muscles as she shakes the mixture with as much vigour as she can physically muster. Regina just rolls her eyes as she flips a finished pancake onto the stack beginning to grow, but Emma’s very much aware of the lingering gaze on her arms. 

“You’re absolutely correct, Miss Swan,” she remarks, dripping in light-hearted sarcasm.

Emma finds she doesn’t hate the title as much as she thought she did. In some ways, it’s kinda hot.

Oh God.

“ _Emmaaaa_!” Henry whines, the sudden noise making her jump a little. “Is it done yet?”

She stares at the very full bottle in her hands, before clearing her throat and setting it on the bench top. What the hell was wrong with her?

“It is now!” She replies, glancing at the eager child beside her. “You wanna open it?”

“Sure!”

“Open it slowly, Henry,” Regina reminds him, “we don’t want it splattering everywhere.”

Emma’s opened pancake mixes before and they don’t exactly splatter, not in the way blood at a crime scene would, but Regina’s Regina, and if she has to hyperbolise her reasoning to a five-year-old child, then so be it. 

He is pretty cute when he really concentrates, moving his feet so that they were shoulder-length on the stool, a tiny pink tongue poking out as he twists open the cap slower than Emma thought was possible for a kid with as much energy as Henry. The pent-up carbon dioxide whistles into the warm atmosphere, and Henry gives Emma a shiny grin.

“Did it!”

“Good job, kid,” she smiles, patting his mop of mousy hair. “Time for your mum to cook them!”

“Can I have one of the cooked pancakes now?” He asks as he jumps off the stool. “I’m hungry.”

Regina looks at him with a raised eyebrow, and Emma thinks she’s about to say no, but the glimmer in her dark eyes says otherwise. “Of course, dear. Help yourself, you know where the syrup is.”

He wanders off to the fridge, pulling out a jar of what looks like maple syrup, tied up with a piece of checkered fabric and twine. Leaning against the edge of the bench, she watches as he fishes out a spoon from one of the drawers and takes the plastic plate Regina had presumably taken out earlier, scooping a huge spoonful of cold syrup onto his pancake.

“Aunty got this from Canada, did you know that Emma?” 

“I… didn’t know that,” she says in response just as he takes a mouth of pancake into his mouth. Some of the syrup drips onto the plate he’s holding underneath his chin and Emma chuckles.

“That the syrupth comth from Canadath?”

“Your aunt, kid.”

“Ohhh.” He swallows, tilting his head. “Mum, where’s Aunty now?”

From Emma’s left, she hears an audible sigh from Regina. 

“I don’t know, Henry. Last I heard she was exploring Belgium or something.” She turns to Emma, “I don’t know where my sister gets the money from, nor do I ever really hear from her, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she found herself in the unknown parts of Antartica or something.”

Emma is in a very deep hole if she knows more about Regina’s family than the foster family she stayed the longest with. And she’s only been formally introduced to her son and her very intimidating mother!

“Are you having any, Emma?” Regina then asks, tilting her head towards the leaning tower of pancakes. “They’re nicer when they’re hot.”

Emma realises she’s been doing nothing for a solid five minutes or so, which is very much unlike her. 

“W-Why don’t you have some!” She exclaims, reaching towards the spatula in Regina’s hands. “You’ve been doing all the cooking, it’s my turn!”

“H-Huh?” Is all Regina can manage before she’s lightly pushed out of the way, her empty hands suspended in the air. “W-Wait,” she says then, mouth open at the way Emma drips some of the mixture into the pan, “you’ll break the two minute intervals I had going!”

“Not everyone can be perfect like you, Regina,” Emma replies teasingly. “This new batch was shaken by yours truly and opened by your one and only son, so it’ll be close enough.”

She tries to ignore the fact that she considered herself almost perfect alongside Henry. But it’s already out of her mouth and she can’t take them back now. Not when Regina is giving her a deadpanned expression before sighing in what seems to be defeat.

“Don’t burn the pancakes then.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Emma also didn’t ask for Regina to take a pretty porcelain plate and top it up with two, fluffy yellow pancakes, a scoop of vanilla ice-cream, a drizzling of honey _and_ maple syrup, and a sprinkling of some appetising raspberries, nor did she even dare imagine the way she took a silver spoon and suck the very sweet delicacy off it clean… she’s not complaining.

No.

Not complaining at all.

One. Regina having a sweet tooth? Unexpected but appreciated. Emma thought she was bad with her chocolate and popcorn combos for the late night snacks but Regina literally takes the cake. 

Two. Ice-cream is no longer innocent.

Three. Why. Is. Regina. Looking. At. Her. Like. That.

“Emma.”

“Mhm…?”

“The pancakes?”

No longer worth having unless one witnesses Regina Mills eating them like some kind of vampire seductress. Emma gulps. 

“…Pancakes.”

“Yes. Pancakes. Burning.”

“Burning.”

From some other dimension — “you guys are acting weird again. I’m going to clean my teeth Mum.”

Weird. Burning.

_Oh_.

Oh shit.

“T-The pancakes!” Emma remarks, immediately flipping them without looking. And when she does, she laughs nervously, because they’re just about to go very golden brown and very very crunchy.

From beside her, Regina stands, with a very amused smile on her honey-glazed lips. “I’m guessing they’ll be yours, Miss Swan?”

Her cheeks are very much speckled various shades of red.

“O-Obviously, uh…”

“‘Obviously,’ hm,” she hums in response. “You really are odd, Emma Swan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can pancakes even go crunchy ? we'll never know bc ur girl never burns her pancakes xoxo
> 
> oceansregina on twitter / curiouscat !!! <3


	7. seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey friends !
> 
> i'm so sorry for being late with this update - if you've been following my twitter you'll know i've been getting back into playing minecraft and so i spent the entire wednesday playing minecraft with my brother lmAOOOOO  
> but i'm not going anywhere, for the few who seem like actually really enjoy this story !!!
> 
> i am changing update days to friday nights now, mostly because uni starts next week and i have full days every wednesday this semester ripppp
> 
> anyways, hope you enjoy <3

Something changes after that weekend.

It starts on the Monday. Regina Mills does not come into _Granny’s Diner_. Emma ignores the weird squeezes of her heart and stomach and figures that she’s doing something with Henry. Red, annoyingly observant as ever, tells Emma that she’s missing her.

Missing Regina Mills? Unlikely. She spent an entire night at her house (unintentionally, of course), and at least sixteen of her hours awake with her. That’s a lot of time to be spending with someone, so how can she possibly _miss_ her? She scoffs at this idea and resumes making this very boring coffee order.

Tuesday has Emma on an opening shift, so she wakes up early to shower and brush her hair and dab on some lip gloss. She’s sweeping the floors when Red comes in an hour later, who takes one look at her appearance and sighs.

“Expecting someone?”

“No,” she replies immediately, straightening herself. “Gotta look presentable for work, y’know?”  


“More like looking presentable for a certain Miss Mills,” Red murmurs under her breath. Emma damn well hears it, rolls her eyes, and continues to sweep.

No, she does _not_ feel anything remotely like disappointment when Regina doesn’t show up by the end of her shift.

But she still wakes up bright and early on Wednesday morning nonetheless, ready for her opening shift with a lip-glossed smile and curly blonde tendrils framing her face. She serves each customer with speed and grace, but with every cappuccino she makes she finds each milky heart crooked and not at all as pretty she knew she could make them. It gets to a point where Ruby kindly guides her to the registers instead. Emma frowns. 

Was Regina okay?

_Don’t be stupid, Swan. You sound sick._

Her brain was right. Tightening her pony tail and swiping a bit of dust from around the buttons, she nodded to no-one in particular.

She was a grown woman, and she was going to go about her week like one. Pining over someone you wished you could be friends with did not belong in a grown-up Emma’s life, not when she grew up with such a feeling and knew how painful it could become. Pining over Regina Mills? Definitely not. 

Because she considered them to be friends now! Not best friends, but not acquaintances, actual friends. When she left the house that Sunday, when Regina had given her a Tupperware box of leftover pancakes as a quiet thank you and her fingers felt so warm underneath Emma’s as she took it from her, when she wrapped an arm around her son and waved goodbye with the other — Emma was sure Regina thought them friends too.

So there was no need to pine! No need to wonder whether or not Regina was okay! Because it’s Regina and Regina is stronger than any woman Emma knows so her brain and heart need to shut up and let her live!

The milk is dripping down the mug.

“Oh, Emma…”

When she blinks, she feels the presence of two lone tears rolling down her cheeks. Red is beside her with a napkin, wiping the mess up, before grabbing a clean napkin to dab at her face. Why is she crying? Why is she crying?

_Why am I crying_?  


“Take a break, Em,” Red says gently, guiding her to the spare room out the back. 

“I — I’m fine,” she mutters despite herself, blinking the tears away.

“You’re not. Don’t be stupid. I’ll lock the door if I have to.”

Emma bites her lip and sits on the seat that Red offers her. A box of tissues is placed on the table beside her, as well as Red’s infamous makeup pouch. She must really look awful now.

“This is… about Regina, right?” She whispers. Emma can’t bear looking at her in the eyes, so she gazes towards a crack in one of the tiles nearby and nods. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing.”

And then she lets out an embarrassingly loud sob, because what happened, anyway? Nothing. She’s not lying when nothing happened that weekend. 

But what did she want? There was her problem. She wanted something to happen.

But she can’t define that something.

And it’s haunting her for whatever reason.

Who is Regina Mills and why has she broken Emma’s heart like this?

“Okay.” Red stands up, smoothing out the folds in her skirt. “Why don’t you take a walk? Get some fresh air. Take some deep breaths Emma, whatever it is, it’ll work out, okay?”

Emma just nods.

And gets up.

…

She’s not sure where she’s going. She kinda just let her feet do all the walking, like they’re supposed to. Why do people need to use their mind? Their heart? That’s not their purpose. 

Her mind needs to go to sleep. For a week. Maybe a year. She’s Emma Swan, for God’s sake. Emma Swan does not overthink things. She just does them. If she wants to run away from a shitty foster family she’ll run away. 

(So why can’t she run away from this?)

Her heart just needs to pump blood and that’s it. No feelings. Friends. Feelings. Friends. Feelings.

(Why is she feeling things a little too deeply?)

When she finally takes a look at her surroundings, she’s standing in front of a book store.

Her feet take her right inside. She hasn’t been inside a book store since she was twelve. She doesn’t quite remember the warm scent of cocoa and loved pages woven into the air, nor does she feel at home with the bean bags scattered on the carmine carpet and the initials scratched inside hearts on the mahogany shelves. 

But she feels at peace, somewhat. Her tears have dried up and her smile is wobbly towards the woman behind the counter, and the smile she receives in return is somewhat comforting.

_Regina Mills used to read books every time you worked._

She shakes her head. Lifts her hand up and picks the first book she touches.

Opens it to a random page.

_The most important thing in life is desire_.

Of course.

Of course it’s this book. The book Henry was quoting from when she met him the first time, beside Regina. When something finally happened between Regina and herself, more than the quick hello’s and silent goodbyes in.

Whoever was rolling the dice, pulling at the strings, laughing with glee at Emma’s misery — she wished she could bounce the pain back to them. 

(Why is she still holding this damn book?)

She keeps reading.

_You can achieve anything you want. The world is yours for the taking._

She laughs then, at the irony of it all. The thing she wants? The thing she wants to have?

Love.

Emma Swan is no romantic.

And she wants love.

She wants Regina Mills.

She wants to be the stupid Saviour Henry thinks she is and she wants to keep the red blush of Regina’s cheeks all for herself, she wants to wear the stupid lace shorts and not her ex husband’s forest-scented rags. She wants to sleep over more and cook pancakes with her more and she wants to be that godforsaken spoon and more.

Emma Swan is no romantic and yet she’s pining over a woman who certainly sees her as nothing more than a friend of some kind.

“So how…?” She whispers, the words taunting her with its bold black print. “I don’t have desire. I don’t desire her. I… I lo — _like_ her.”

“‘Like’ is just as a strong word as ‘love,’ Miss Swan.”

She looks up, heart caught in throat. Regina Mills stood there, carrying a few thick books in her arms, dressed in a camel-coloured trench coat and her dark hair in soft waves.

“R-Regina.”

She walks up to Emma then, almost shyly. Emma’s cheeks are reddening far too quickly, her hands tensing their grip on the book just as the air around them begins to thicken. She’s not sure what she’s choking on, her heart or her tears, or if she’s even choking at all, and that her mouth is hanging open like a dead fish, speechless and small all at once; her mind caught in a daze.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” She asks quietly, somewhat gesturing towards the uniform Emma is suddenly aware of wearing.

“I… I’m on my break.” She’s about to ask the same question back until she realises that she doesn’t actually know what Regina does for a living and it’s stabbing her heart some more because she _wants_ to know. She wants to really know this woman and that _has_ to mean she feels something for her, right?

“I see.” 

Emma gulps. She hates this, she decides. Whatever ‘this’ is. The tension, the lack thereof, the emotions, the coldness, the fire, and all the minuscule, bittersweet details in between. And it’s always when she’s with Regina.

It’s like magic, almost, the way they interact with one another. Unpredictable, possibly dangerous, yet Emma wouldn’t know what to do with herself if she just let it flicker in the air like fireflies, hopelessly lost. That magic should be conditioned into something even more beautiful, so really, all she needed to do was reach out, and grab hold of it.

She only wished she let her mind think a little faster, because Regina’s hand in hers is very warm and also very tense. And it’s too late to apologise, too late to take her hand back, and so she does what she seems to do best.

“Do you like me?”

Fail to speak the language of subtly, obviously. 

Regina just blinks. As she’s been doing, ever since Emma’s hand somehow found its way around hers. And also pursing her lips into an ‘o’ shape, as if she can’t decide whether she’s stunned or confused or surprised over Emma’s bluntness. But Emma’s squeezing her hand now, her other hand clutching the book tightly against her chest, wishing to hear that one little word of confirmation. 

“I…” Regina says then, breathing in deeply. “I’m sure you were wondering where I was… these past few days.” Emma just nods, silently willing to heart to quiet down its beating. “Well, I was thinking. Henry wouldn’t stop asking about you. And… my mind, it wouldn’t either.” She chuckles, glancing at their connected hands. “ _Emma this. Emma that_. I thought maybe if I stayed away, you’d leave me alone, but…”

“You like me,” Emma whispers. “Too. You like me too.”

Regina’s cheeks flush lightly, and she struggles to meet Emma’s piercing hazel ones. “Maybe.”

“You like me,” she repeats again.

“I _missed_ you,” Regina all but whispers in response.

Emma, still holding that book against her body, softly falls into Regina’s, into some kind of awkward hug. Regina’s other arm snakes around her waist, holding her close, and it’s all the confirmation Emma didn’t realise she needed.

Regina Mills would never, ever, _ever_ verbally say ‘yes,’ not to a question a flustered high schooler might ask.And Emma, ever the anti-romantic, thought that was more beautiful. Because here she was, head resting on this beautiful woman’s chest, hearing the faint sound of heartbeat intertwining with her own, her inner senses fully awakened by the apple scents that clung to Regina’s neck, her wrists, her hair.

“I ate all the pancakes we made,” Emma says quietly into the folds of Regina’s coat, “and thought of that weekend. It’s been a while since I actually had fun staying over at another person’s house. Usually they end with me getting kicked out or sent back to the foster homes.”

“Henry wants you to come over more often,” she says, and to that, Emma raises her head, catching her gaze.

“And what do _you_ want, Regina?”

“I —” She bites her lip, and Emma, from this close proximity, watches her do so, and she didn’t think biting lips could be attractive but they are. And maybe it’s because it’s Regina, maybe she’s just really, really gay for women in general, but she’s suddenly in love with the idea of being able to kiss them.

_Woah. Where did_ that _thought come from???_

Emma thought she was a patient person; after all, she waited how long for this moment, where she was finally in the arms of someone who (might possibly) liked her? But Regina’s hesitation — she had to — she —

_Soft_.

Regina Mills’ lips were soft. Vanilla-flavoured, which temporarily caught her off-guard, because she was a hundred-percent expecting apples. And then she felt Regina Mills hold her tighter and tilt her head a little to the side and that’s when Emma opened her eyes and stepped back in a hurry, heart beating, cheeks burning, eyes watering.

Because _shit,_ she thinks, dropping the book to the carpet. She fucked up, big time.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, continuing to step back until she was flush against the shelves. “I’m so, so sorry —”

“H-Huh?” Regina asks, knitting her eyebrows together. “For what?”

“For kissing — no, for everything. Oh my God, I should’ve asked. I’m an idiot.”

“E-Emma!” Emma flinches at how loud Regina spoke her name, and freezes at the hand curled around her wrist. “You’re right. You’re an idiot. I’m an idiot. We’re both idiots.”

“W-What?”

Regina bites her lips again, and Emma quickly decides that she now hates it when she does that. Because she wants to kiss it again. 

“Me kissing you back means I like you too, idiot,” she mutters with a not-very-angry huff. “I want you to come over and make pancakes with us and actually sleep in the guest bedroom and not on the couch and be with me because everyone else keeps leaving and I’m hoping you’ll be different. Henry says you are. And I never doubt my little prince. Not since the day he pointed out that the milk in my cappuccino was shaped like a very sad-looking heart.”

Emma goes very, very red.

Because that was the day she first learned Regina Mills had a son.

And the day Emma Swan thought she’d never have a chance.

And the day that led to this very moment.

“You remember, don’t you?” Regina asks softly, crouching down to pick up the forgotten book. “It was this very book I was reading, too.” 

“ _The most important thing in life is desire,_ ” Emma recalls, just as quietly. Regina smiles at her in return, reciting:

“ _To dive is to fly. Set yourself free from the shackles of conformity. Let nothing hold you back except the air itself; you are between heaven and earth. The rules no longer apply._ ”

She watches her red lips move, every word dripping with a sense of purpose, determination, strung together with honey and melted chocolate. Addictive, alluring, making Emma want to believe. That magic she felt earlier, that she’s always felt with Regina, maybe reaching out wasn’t enough.

She needed to jump off that diving board and fly.

“Emma,” says Regina. Her eyes are so, so brown, so warm and pretty. And despite the flush on her cheeks, she’s got determination written all over the rest of her face. The confidence that Emma loves just as much as her shyness, the look that made Emma weak in the knees. “Forget what you thought you knew.”

“How…?”

Regina’s lips purse into a smirk. “Come home with me.”

…

It’s a dream. It has to be. The tower of pillows and blankets Henry and Emma had built on the weekend was gone. The mahogany floors were unusually shiny. Emma’s reflection in the mirror was off-putting — that was the only word she could think of to describe it. It was as though she was floating between reality and her imagination and one wrong move could shatter everything. She was practically walking on tip-toes.

And Regina noticed, of course. She looked over her shoulder, asking, “Emma? Are you okay?”

She breathed in. Out. In again. Was this really happening? After all this time, Emma finally had what she wanted, but now that it was here, she wasn’t so sure anymore.

Why are feelings so exhausting to deal with?

And then she remembered that she needed to jump. To reach out, spread her arms, fly, take what she desired, what she lo — _liked_.

“Can… can I kiss you… again… please?”

She cringed at herself. Her hesitation and nerves really brought out the eighteen-year old virgin-who-had-never-been-kissed-before in her. But Regina just gave her a smile, met her halfway, cupped her cheeks and kissed her instead.

Emma melted into her touch. Because of _course_ Regina was a good kisser. How did someone like Robin manage to marry this woman? And then dare to ask for a divorce?

_His loss_ , Emma thinks with a smile. _Because now I have a chance_.

Another thought came to mind, one that Emma completely forgot about till now. Did Regina actually like the fairer sex? Was it her first time? Was it —

“Emma.”

She blinks, staring right into Regina’s pretty eyes once more. “Regina.”

“That’s me,” she whispers, resting her forehead against Emma’s. “Stop thinking.”

“Stop… thinking?”

“Yes. You’re thinking too much. Stop it.”

And with the way she’s holding her, touching her, smiling at her… she makes it sound as easy as one, two, three. So, for Regina’s sake, Emma decides to ignore her mind, follow her heart, until they’re inside Regina’s bedroom, the air heavily tense and dreamy all at once.

And she can’t _help_ it. She’s thinking again. Henry. What about Henry? Is this what he wanted? And Regina, she’s literally going through a divorce she really shouldn’t be waltzing into their life like this she —

“ _Em-ma,_ ” Regina says again, a warning almost, a thumb stroking circles on Emma’s cheek. “I said, _stop thinking_.”

“But —”

“No buts,” but then her eyes narrow. “You… this was what you wanted…wasn’t it? It’s what I wanted, I want you, I —”

“Need you,” Emma finishes for her, smiling. Their hands find one another, fingers intertwining, eyes glimmering with hope and wonder and all those things Emma Swan didn’t think existed in her life. “I’m sorry.”

“F-For what?”

“For being like this. Thinking. Overthinking. I don’t — I’m not sure — why… how… how anyone would like me.”

“You’re my Saviour, Miss Swan.”

Emma stares at her, open-mouthed. “Your… you really believe in that?”

She shrugs. “If there’s one thing Henry learnt from me, it’s being stubborn. He refuses to let go of the idea, no matter how many times I tell him.”

“Regina… I should probably tell you something.”

“I know.”

“Huh?”

She offers a small smile. “Henry tells you things. You know about us more than anyone else. You know he’s not my son, not by birth, anyway.”

“I swear, I didn’t ask him to!” She replies quickly. “He starts, and he can’t stop —”

“I know,” she repeats again. “He’s my little story-teller. He wants to be a writer one day. He can’t help himself. He didn’t know Daniel for very long, he was still so young but… I tell him stories about Daniel. He wanted to be a writer too.”

They’re still standing in the middle of the room. Whatever Emma thought would happen, didn’t, and despite herself she’s glad. Because they’re finally talking. They both needed this, she realises.

“It was Mother,” she continues. “‘ _Every boy needs a father_.’ So she introduced Robin to me. And he was fine, at first. Attractive, from a well-off family, charming. Very different to Daniel. I really believed her when she said I needed ‘a change of scenery.’ And then…” She sighs, staring at their still intertwined hands, before guiding Emma to the edge of the bed. “We were married, despite knowing one another for a year. Daniel and I were childhood sweethearts, Robin and I hadn’t even talked of marriage and we were still married.”

“Henry doesn’t like Robin,” Emma offers uselessly. She’s watching the way Regina’s eyebrows furrow at the thought of her ex-husband, the way her lip curls into a very sad line at the thought of Daniel, the way she glares at the floor at the thought of her own mother. It’s a rollercoaster of emotions and Emma hates that she can feel every bit of pain Regina is experiencing. 

“No, he doesn’t,” she confirms with a nod. “He doesn’t like my mother, either.”

“He told me once, that you were afraid of heights because of her. Can I… can I ask what happened?”

She sighs. “I loved it, once upon a time. Feeling like you’re on top of the world. Did he tell you that I used to ride horses?” Emma nods. “Well. I had one horse. Rocinante was his name. My Father gifted him to me when I was Henry’s age. I rode him at every free moment I had to spare. Entered him into all the competitions — we were a team, my horse and I. And then, one day, I found him in his stable, on the ground, dead. And when I ran outside, looking for Mother, I found her waiting for me in front of our prized apple tree, his saddle hanging from the highest branch.”

Emma’s eyes widen. “She… she didn’t…”

“She did. To this day I don’t know why. The only reason I can think of is to get my head out of the clouds. She must’ve thought that I wanted to ride for a living for the rest of my life, and we all know that financially, it wouldn’t last. I can be the world’s top rider and still won’t make enough money to make her happy.”

Before she can stop herself, she wraps an arm around Regina’s waist, letting her small form somewhat curl up against her body. Their hands hold one another tighter, and they let the silence fill the space until either of them were ready to talk.

“What do you do for a living, Regina?”

When she lifts her head to meet Emma’s eyes, Emma sees a glassiness to her stare, and the hand holding Regina’s immediately untangles itself to wipe away the tear that she knows will fall.

“I’m my Mother’s secretary. She’s the mayor of this town.”

“The… your mother runs Storybrooke?!”

“More or less,” Regina shrugs.

“But —”

“She’ll replace me, sooner or later. She’s tired of me, and this divorce with Robin has pushed her to her limits. When she came over last Saturday, before you came in and literally saved us, we were discussing a deal. I’d give her the house, she leaves Henry and I alone.”

“What — that doesn’t sound like a very fair deal.”

“Oh, but it’s more than fair, Emma,” she sighs wistfully “All my life, all I’ve ever wanted was for her to leave me alone. I wanted to be alone with Rocinante, my father, Daniel, Henry.”

“But… this house, your father gave it to you! You have memories here!”

“And I’ll continue to cherish them with all my heart. But you see, I’m tired of living in the past. I’m tired of playing her game. We all win, if I accept this deal. Mother has made it difficult for me, trying to keep Henry, but she’ll lay off that too, she’ll tell Robin to let me have sole custody of my child. And then, with the little money I have left from my father, I’ll find somewhere small for Henry and I to live. I’ll be at peace, Emma. I’ll finally have the happiness I’ve always wanted. It’s what my Father would’ve wanted.”

“‘Home isn’t a place. It’s the people in it’ — ” Emma smiles. “An old foster father told me that. He was one of the nicer ones. I never believed in it until now.”

“Now?”

“I want to see where this goes,” she admits with a shy laugh. “I’ll help you and Henry look for a place. You can even stay at mine for a while, in case your Mother kicks you out early. And you can work at _Granny’s Diner_ with Red and me! I’m sure Granny will understand, after all, she did with me.”

“One of these days, you’ll have to tell me about your past. After all, you know everything about me.”

“One day,” she replies with a firm nod. “But for now, let’s focus on getting you the happiness you so rightfully deserve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for my personal life updates / art i'm @oceansregina on twitter uwu
> 
> also SQUEALS THEY FINALLY DONE DID THE KISSY THING UWU why am i getting excited im the one who wrote the story jfc


	8. eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yeet hello friends i'm posting early bc i'm about to binge the last season of oitnb and i need to compose myself for what i'm about to watch skSKSKSKS
> 
> so enjoy this kinda short chapter, something tells me we're almost at the end so i'm think maybe two more chapters ??? idk but that's what i've got planned in my head uwu !!!!! hope y'all like it ~

Henry, for once in his life, is at a loss of words. Standing in the doorway of the kitchen, mouth hanging, hand clutched onto the strap of his bag, eyes darting between his mother and Emma, who are smiling at _each other_ and not being awkward or yelling or crying or whatever else that doesn’t equate to a healthy friendship.

“Hey kid,” Emma greets with a smile, very much aware of the change in atmosphere between Regina and herself. They may be all smiles and rainbows between one another, but they still had to tread carefully around her son. _You have to pretend that everything is perfectly normal_ , Regina told her earlier.

Regina doesn’t seem to understand that Henry is very much smarter than she gives him credit for. She goes on to set various jars of spices on the counter, ready to literally spice up a fresh batch of lasagna.

But it’s not her fault. If Henry was Emma’s kid, she too would be in a world of denial about literally everything. They weren’t dating, they just kissed, it was friendly, and nice, and so they were certainly most not girlfriends because how would they explain that one to Henry, after everything they’ve all been through?

“Hey… Emma,” he turns to his mother. “Mum, why is Emma here?”

“She’s having dinner with us,” she replies, and Emma senses no second thoughts running through that sentence. Her smile widens, because _finally_ , she felt wanted.

He slides up onto the stool next to Emma’s, his eyes too narrowed and his mouth pursed in suspicion. _Thought so_ , Emma thinks, glancing at Regina and waiting for her to have her epiphany.

“You told me we were gonna move again. Away from here.”

Regina clears her throat then, looking at Emma, waiting as though she’s expecting Emma to answer that question for her. So she sighs, awkwardly resting her hand on the little boy’s shoulder.

“So uh, you and your mum are gonna live with me for a bit, just until your mum can find a small house for the two of you to live in. It’s a bit complicated to explain, but…”

“But?!” He interrupts, his eyes widening. “We’re gonna live with you Emma? For real?!” She nods. “Does this mean you’re my new dad?”

Emma almost falls off her stool, and Regina drops spatula she was holding which scares the both of them and _then_ Emma loses her footing trying to adjust herself and drops to the ground, all the while Henry is looking at them both with the most infuriatingly knowing smirk _ever_. 

Remember when Regina told her to pretend everything was fine? Like, ten minutes ago? As in, no implications that they kissed, or whatever. Yeah, it seems like that’s gone down the drain before Emma can even save it.

If it wasn’t for the fact that he was only five, she’d be cursing him with karma right now.

She grunts as she tries to get herself up, Henry laughing beside her. Regina, momentarily startled at what just happened, tucks her hair behind her ear and chuckles at the sight of Emma struggling to get herself together.

“Now dear, Emma and I would have to get married first. And you’d call her ‘mum,’ just like me.” Emma hates that her cheeks have exploded into a very pigmented blush because she hadn’t even _thought_ of marriage. And Regina said that without even blinking. Or thinking, for that matter. 

“So you’re dating?” 

“No!” Emma interrupts, just as Regina answers ‘yes.’ Confused, she catches the sparkling brown eyes of her apparent lover — again, remember when Regina herself said to not tell her son anything — asking, “we are?”

“I thought kissing one another was enough of a confirmation for you, Miss Swan,” she comments with a knowing smirk. And yeah, there’s no way she can take back that statement now that it’s been said.

There’s no way things can ever be perfectly normal between anyone in this room, Emma accepts that in defeat.

“Ew!” Henry says then, his nose scrunching up in disgust, clambering off his stool. “I’m leaving!”

Emma turns her head just in time to catch him leaving, his bag bouncing behind him, and then hears the quick footsteps as he makes his way upstairs. From the other side of the counter, Regina laughs.

“Better not scar him by telling him what we were doing before he came in, right?”

“You’re the devil, Miss Mills.”

She smirks. “That, Miss Swan, I am.”

…

What were they doing before Henry came in, you might ask?

“What if Henry comes in?” Emma whispers, lips softly resting on the nook of Regina’s neck.

“He won’t… it’s Wednesday, Em- _ma_ …” she mutters, her hands snaking around Emma’s waist.

“What’s so special about Wednesday?”

“Three… he always comes home at three.”

Emma lifts up her head, ignoring Regina’s (very cute) whine of protest, glancing at the clock flashing on the microwave — twenty minutes till three.

“Are you done checking the time?” She asks. Emma raises an eyebrow at the sight of the woman before her, who, without heels, was smaller than Emma and therefore not as intimidating as Emma had believed. Besides, with the way her eyes sparkle and swirl like honey in the sunlight and the rosy flush on her cheeks, how did Emma ever believe Regina Mills was someone to be afraid of?  


“Someone’s impatient,” she muses, kissing the tip of her nose. Regina rolls her eyes, lips pushed into a very kissable pout. “Have you ever done this before?”

“What? Sex on the kitchen counter?” She asks, with staggering amounts of bluntness. Despite her flushed face, she smirks at the way Emma has to cough into her elbow to clear her throat. 

“I’m going to assume you’ve done that… considering how confident you sound,” Emma barely manages to say in exasperation. She’s also trying to keep the sparks of a very jealous fire down in the pit of her stomach, and believe her, it’s not easy. “No, I’m talking about… with… y’know, someone like me.”

Regina blinks. “You mean, with another woman?”

“Y-Yeah!” Emma steps back, averting her gaze to the shiny timber flooring beneath her. Damn her and her bouts of awkwardness at the most inappropriate of times. Regina really messed with her head like that, huh?

After what felt like eternity in Emma’s head but only a minute since she first asked, Regina says, “no,” and Emma let out a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding.

“No?” She repeats, but her eyes remain steady on the floor, “not at all?”

“Not at all, Emma. Why, have you?”

She thinks of the pretty friend that had been adopted from the foster home. Lily was her name, and now that Emma thinks of her, comparing her to Regina, she recognises the fluttering in her heart. So she liked her too, back then — but surely it wasn’t the crush-kind-of-love she feels for Regina? The day one of the workers in the home asked for Emma, telling her she had a phone call (she _never_ had phone calls), and Lily had invited her for a sleepover at her new home… yes, Emma’s heart was fluttering. She thought she’d found a friend.

The way Lily smiled at her when she knocked on the door. The way she was proudly introduced to Lily’s newly adopted parents. The way she held Emma’s hand as she showed her around her new home. And… the way she looked at Emma after they had calmed down from giggling into the early hours of the morning, after staying up playing video games and stuffing buttery popcorn and these chocolate malt balls down their throats.

Emma hadn’t thought of it then, but she recognised the sparkle of lust in this remembered Lily’s eyes. She was sure her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her, because Emma vividly remembers blushing and licking her lips too.

And, like some kind of drawn-out, agonising romance movie, she remembers Lily leaning closer, the world silent save for the background noise of some forgotten game on the screen and the heaviness in Emma’s breathing. 

She’d thought she’d kiss her, but she whispered her name instead, and kept whispering until Emma blinked and found Regina pressing her back into the countertop, head slightly tilted and a frown knitting her eyebrows.

“You have, haven’t you?” She asks gently, her smile sad.

Emma sighs. “Not… not really. I liked this one girl from the foster home, I think we almost kissed, I… I don’t remember what happened.”

Regina seems to interpret this as a good thing, which makes Emma wonder if she’d been jealous had Lily kissed Emma that night, because she licks her lips, eyes fluttering in a way that makes Emma’s knees weak. “Have you ever kissed anyone, Em- _ma_?”

She’s suddenly very much aware of how much older in experience Regina has compared to her. Shame deepens the red in her cheeks to the point where it feels like it’s burning.

But she’s not about throw away everything she fought for under the gaze of this woman she happens to like. She’s an adult too, so, mentally shaking herself out of her memories and fears, she straightens up, cocking her head in hopes of looking somewhat in control of herself again.

And, rather than speaking, she stares at Regina, a staring competition definitely ensuing, her eyes flicking between the chocolate framed beneath dark eyelashes and the red of the other woman’s lips, before finally leaning forward, causing Regina to jump a little at the warmth of Emma’s breath beside her, whispering, “I’m about to, do you know who?”

Regina narrows her eyes, chuckling, “no idea, pray tell — do I know her?”

“Mhm,” she grins, “I know her more than she knows herself, but yes, you know her.”

“Oh? Do enlighten me, Miss Swan.”

Softly, she presses her lips beneath Regina’s ear, muttering, “She’s wearing the prettiest pout on her lips right now —”

“Maybe you should kiss them, what if she doesn’t like waiting?”

“Shhh, then you’ll ruin the big reveal!” Emma says with a chuckle. “But you’re right, she can be very impatient sometimes. But she’s more than that, she’s passionate about a lot of things. Her son, mostly, but she has an eye for good literature, and,” her lips returning to the crook of Regina’s neck, “cappuccinos made by yours truly.”

Regina’s very quiet whine almost makes Emma want to stop and kiss her just to shut her up, but considering the past few months, it’s clear who has more patience. She’s not about to throw the _being more patient than Regina Mills_ title away too.

“She also has a lot of things on her mind that I wish she’d stop thinking of,” Emma continues, fingers reaching to grasp Regina’s forearms, and then, without warning, switches the two of them so that Regina was back pressed against the countertop. 

Regina grunts in protest. “Maybe if you just kissed this mysterious woman, you’d kill two birds with one stone?”

“Careful Regina, it almost sounds like you’re begging.”

Emma’s smile of delight was almost wicked in nature, the way she watched Regina’s entire top half of her body go bright red. So Regina wasn’t a beggar — not that she was directly looking for the answer — but then again, Regina dug her own grave here. Emma couldn’t help herself.

“I’m going to shut up. Good luck trying to win the heart of this woman you’re apparently going to kiss.”

“I think,” Emma replies carefully, a hand reaching up to caress Regina’s warm cheek, “you’ll find I’ve already won the heart of this woman.”

Before Regina can protest, Emma leans forward, catching her open lips with her own, in love with the way Regina utterly melts in her touch. The way Regina wraps her arms around Emma’s waist, pulling her closer, never letting her go, the way Emma’s hand continues to hold her, a thumb rubbing marshmallow-light circles into the blooming blush, the way the strand of blonde hair fell from behind Emma’s ear and tenderly grazed the back of her hand — all of it, it was all so mesmerising and addicting and Emma could hardly believe she was here, in the arms of the woman she could freely admit she had a crush on.

“Oh, Emma,” Regina sighs, when they finally pulled away (reluctantly, of course). “You’re a romantic, you know that?”

Emma laughs in response. “That’s funny — you know, months ago, back when you had brought Henry into the cafe for the first time, I hated the idea of being a romantic. I didn’t think I’d ever understand why people liked it so much. And now…”

“You were romantic even before Henry,” Regina tells her, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Don’t think I didn’t see you watching me while you were making someone’s coffee, or cleaning the tables.”

“I — you make me sound like a stalker!”

“I mean, you’re not wrong. To anyone else it could be seen as creepy, I guess. But I’m not anyone else.”

“You’re right, you have feelings for a me, your apparent stalker. Does that make you just as weird?”

“Who was the only putting heart-shaped milk patterns on my cappuccinos, hm? Very subtle detail, considering no other customer of yours had heart-shapes in their drinks too.”

Emma groans, rolling her eyes at Regina in defence. “Okay, fine. I’m _sooo_ easy to read, no surprise there!”

“You’re a romantic through and through, Emma Swan,” she concludes with a firm nod of her head. “Now, are you done denying everything? I have a request.”

“What more do you want, _your majesty_?” Emma asks with a raise of her eyebrow, but the smile on her face says otherwise.

Regina grins, licking her lips. “One more kiss before the clock strikes three, please.”

…

Dinner is surprisingly… normal. Henry is making faces like any child his age would be making when he sees his mother look stupidly happy and in love for once in a very long time. No one’s complaining about having lasagna, even though they already had it for dinner that Saturday night. What can Emma say? Regina’s cooking is literally god-tier; her lasagna may as well be ambrosia itself.

The atmosphere is scarily domestic, too. They’re seated around one end of the unnecessarily long dining table, tucking into their meals and talking about everything and anything. Right now, Henry’s talking about his art project, and Emma’s actually listening and taking in every word he says. His class is having a small exhibition, and with parent-teacher interviews on Friday, Emma’s been invited, and quite frankly, she couldn’t be happier.

“I bet yours is the best in the class, kid,” Emma tells him, and she practically feels like a proud mother. 

“Ms Blanchard says it’s ex — _exkit? Exqueetit?_ ”

“ _Exquisite?_ ” Regina suggests.

He nods. “That one! I think mine is her favourite. She says it reminds her of her grandmother.”

“Sounds like you’re becoming the teachers pet,” Emma says, and Regina kicks her shin from under the table. “Uh — that’s not a bad thing, by the way!”

“If I keep being teachers pet, will you make lasagna for dinner every night, Mum?”

“Good try,” Regina says with a chuckle, “but no. You need veggies and all sorts of other things, not just carbs.”

That’s another thing Emma hadn’t really thought about, but most definitely noticed: Regina’s actually eating again. Sure, her serving of lasagna is smaller compared to Henry and Emma’s, but she recalls the night at the carnival, where the only thing Regina ate was a salad she packed with her. She wondered if it was Robin, or even her own mother, who had planted that very toxic seed into her head.

It doesn’t matter, because Regina is glowing, literally. With the threat of her mother taking everything away from her gone, and Emma here to… make a positive impact on her life, hopefully, no wonder she’s like this. When Henry goes off into the kitchen to bring out the ice-cream for dessert, Regina tells him three bowls, not two. And she does so with a bright smile on her face. It’s stunning, and Emma falls a little more in love with her.

And now they’re huddled up under a huge, fluffy blanket in Regina’s bed.

_Regina’s_. _Bed_.

Watching that one _Disney_ movie about the queen with ice powers and the talking snowman and the super catchy songs. Emma hasn’t really watched it, considering she never really had the chance to grow up watching _Disney_ movies, but she vaguely knows some of the lyrics, probably from some random kid with their mother in the cafe.

But watching and listening to Henry and Regina belt _Let it Go_ as some kind of practised and professional duet? Emma doesn’t want to know how many times they’ve seen this movie, because they’ve somehow assigned one another which parts to sing together and which parts to sing separately, and honestly, it’s kinda impressive. Emma wonders if she’ll ever get to sing a song like that with someone. Preferably Regina.

Once the movie is finished, Henry decides he wants to get high on sugar and so runs downstairs to hunt the pantry for food. Regina groans, saying that he definitely won’t be sleeping till midnight, and Emma suspects that she had certain plans for herself and Emma once Henry was asleep. Well then. It’s not happening, but it’s not like Emma cares, because she’s still having fun.

And that’s what’s important, right?

“ _Emma_ …” Regina whines, hugging the pillow and giving her some very scary looking puppy eyes. “I want a cappuccinoooo.”

“Woah, who’s the child now?” She teases, stretching her arms upwards. She’s not about to refuse her, however. “I’ll make you your cappuccino. And stop Henry from bringing the entire pantry upstairs. I’m gonna make us hot chocolates, like _sensible_ people.”

“What’s wrong with cappuccinos? They’re nice too…”

“Nothing beats a warm hot chocolate with whipped cream, cinnamon and marshmallows, Regina.”

“Uh huh,” she pouts in response. Emma laughs, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed before pushing herself up right. “You can stay in your very comfortable position in bed, Miss Mills, your son and I will do all the hard work for you.”

“It’s what I deserve,” she responds, looking at her nails like some kind of professional bitch. Then — “I’m kidding. Thank you Emma. I — You’re the sweetest.”

She’s sure the both of them wanted her to say something entirely different.

But she supposes that if she’s so sure, then it must be true. Drumming her nails on the banister as she makes her way downstairs, she smiles.

“I love you too. Regina.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @oceansregina on twitterrrrr


	9. nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI.  
> ADGHKJNFK.
> 
> this is for the v few people who voted on my twitter poll last night lmao.
> 
> the final chapter !! is finally written !!
> 
> for those who weren't aware, i took a long ass break from finishing this fic. uni assignments started to pile up, i had to keep my art insta updated, other boring stuff in my life took over... and then i got my marks back for a poetry assignment and it kinda just knocked all my energy to write anything...? bc i was so proud of what i had written and the few people who helped me edit enjoyed it too and to get a mark i wasn't happy with... with no feedback to explain as to why i got such a mark and how it could be improved..... yeah haha. i wasn't even in the mood to write personal poetry, and certainly not in the right frame of mind for writing long ass fanfics. i never forgot about this fic tho bc it's just not in my nature to leave something incomplete. i did tell twitter that i'd try to finish this during my week off uni (aka this week) and i did soooooo !
> 
> anyway. here's this. i'm sorry for the wait. i hope you still enjoy it, and ty to those who still supported this fic even after my break haha. this was my lil adventure in writing an actual fanfic (that isn't cringy, hopefully) !!!

When she wakes up, it’s eleven a.m. The day of which, Emma’s hazy, narrow-eyed and sleep-encrusted brain, doesn’t know. _What day is it_? She thinks to herself stupidly. _Eh. Who cares_.

Because the most important person in her life in still fast asleep beside her, tucked under some freshly lined Egyptian cotton sheets, one hand most likely numb under the pillow and the other curled into a ‘fist' under her head. She says ‘fist’ in quotation marks because it’s more like a cat paw, but knowing Regina and her tendency to go bright red out of anger and embarrassment, she’ll stick to describing it as a fist. Verbally. In Regina’s presence.

(It’s still a cat paw. And it’s so fucking cute. Especially when she snores.)

It’s become a routine, waking up around midday. Emma has never been a morning person, but these days, she’s been the one to wake up first. And surprisingly, she doesn’t hate it; in fact, she feels like her entire existence is at a hundred-percent, with a very unlikely chance of burning out too quickly. She’s happy here. Waking up beside Regina. Before Regina. Getting out of bed to make Regina’s morning as special as she makes Emma’s.

One of Emma’s favourite parts of Regina’s room was the floor to ceiling windows framed by a set of white curtains that just invited the midday sun to come dappling through. Of course, it was a luxury to be treasured as much as she could, because Regina was set to move out by the end of the month. She quit her job (or rather, her mother did it for her), which allowed her to have late mornings sleeping in. And then Mary Margaret, Henry’s teacher, came knocking sometime last week, asking if Regina would be interested in an office job at the school. Of course she accepted, because this is Regina-I-Need-A-Job-Or-I’ll-Die-Mills. And she’s gonna help out with the after-school daycare program too, because, in Regina’s words, ‘ _Henry’s growing up too quickly. I like children_.’

Henry was, in fact, growing up too quickly. Emma taught him how to use the microwave and toaster responsibly as to not frighten his mother, so that in the mornings, while they were still asleep, he could make toast or heat up some leftover lasagna (because who is Emma to say that a kid can’t have lasagna for breakfast? Cereal gets boring after all!) And the one time Emma was awake by eight to see the kid off, he had brushed his own hair and cleaned his teeth without anyone telling him to, and even taught himself how to tie his shoelaces and so yes, Emma couldn’t help but feel proud for a kid that wasn’t even hers.

She catches the smile that seems to be permanently glued to her face in the hallway mirror, running a hand through her blonde bed hair before padding downstairs. She wants to make hot chocolate for the millionth time this week, until she opens the cupboard and remembers that they had used the last of the chocolate powder last night. She presses the door shut, sighing, stomach growling.

And then she opens up the panty door and sees the very bare shelves staring back at her, which means it must be Friday because Regina’s pantry is usually packed with food. Emma was working last Friday, so she couldn’t go grocery shopping with her, but she’s not working today so…

“Regina? Regina!” She yells. “Get up, we’re going grocery shopping!”

There’s a silence that answers her, and then the dull sound of feet padding on carpet, and then Emma has to blink to see a very moody Regina appear in the kitchen, tying her silk robe round her waist with a _very_ angry huff.

“Why do we have to go grocery shopping,” she hears her mutter, storming past Emma to open the pantry door. Emma bites back a laugh. “Ugh. Why can’t we just wave our hands and say _bippity-boppity boo there’s my food_.” 

“Magic isn’t real, Regina,” Emma remarks. Regina sighs and rolls her eyes.

“Are you implying that last night didn’t actually happen?”

Emma almost chokes on her saliva.

And she almost thinks she’s about to go into cardiac arrest.

And her cheeks go warm and pink when she catches the small smirk of satisfaction on Regina’s lips.

“I — well,” she clears her throat, straightening up, even though her knuckles are going white on the countertop edge behind her. “You mean to tell me that I’m magic?”

Regina raises an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume that I think that highly of you.”

Well then. They were playing this game. Emma cocks her head and returns a smirk of her own, her mind replaying the magical film that was last night.

“Oh Regina, I vibrantly remember you being the _woman who kept coming_.”

“T-That-!” She huffs, “was because _you_ kept rolling me over! You were the one screaming, it’s a wonder Henry didn’t come in calling the police.”

“I don’t scream, Regina Mills.”

“And I don’t come. Easily. Emma Swan.”

Emma steps forward, reaching out to grab Regina’s hand that has clung to her robe, threading her fingers through. “Is that a challenge, Miss Mills?”

“You tell me, Miss Swan,” she replies, voice dripping in a honey so captivating that it should be illegal to speak in at midday. Emma leans a little closer, until she’s close to her ear, breathing softly and feeling how Regina’s hands tense in between hers.

“Whoever wins has to do the groceries.”

“I did it last week.”

“Are you telling me that you’ll surrender?”

Emma grins when she catches Regina playing with her bottom lip, pulling it in thought.

“I’m not going to lose.”

And then Emma’s pulled into the living room, almost stumbling on her own two feet before being pushed into the sofa, where Regina clambers on top and looks at her, all fluttery eyelashes and biting-lipped and Emma catches the waft of apple and realises mentally that Regina had planned this all along, or maybe she’s too used to the perfume or Regina will eternally smell like apples but whatever it is, Emma can’t really think straight because there’s lips on lips and the fiddling of silk robes until it’s gathered at Regina’s elbows and Emma’s in a white loose tank and a pair of Regina’s silk shorts and moaning softly and maybe she actually does want to scream because Regina’s so _frustratingly good_ at this. 

But Emma doesn’t lose either.

“What about your mother? What would she think, knowing her daughter is having sex on this very couch?”

“Fuck my mother,” she breathes heavily against Emma’s lips, slipping her tongue past her teeth.

Emma’s hand snakes between their pressed bodies, fingers tugging at the loose sash around Regina’s waist before making their way around her body. And then Regina breaks the kiss, reaches behind her and grabs Emma’s wrist, pushing it above her head and holding it tight.

“A shame I don’t have a scarf,” she mutters.

“That’s cheating.”

But while Regina takes the split second to frown, her grip weakens, and so Emma’s able to turn the situation around, quite literally. The high pitched, girly squeak that comes from Regina’s lips almost has her weak in the knees, but she’s able to hold Regina’s wrists tightly in place against the small space that was the sofa. And then she’s pressing a kiss against Regina’s lips before making her way down her neck, softly tugging at the skin with her teeth, listening to the way Regina cries out in soft pleasure while writhing beneath her grip.

Emma’s knee is between Regina’s thighs, and it occurs to her that her knee is anything but dry. Raising an eyebrow, she sits up, now appreciating the red lace babydoll dress that had been hidden underneath the robe, too short and bunched up to cover the matching red panties underneath. Emma’s sure that Regina is a hundred percent aware of it too, her hands still limp above her head, eyes staring darkly at Emma, waiting for her to make the next move.

Emma can’t help but tease, leaning forward again to run a single finger down Regina’s jawline, down to the middle of her chest, tugging the lace down even though the thin straps were still hung at her shoulders. “You don’t come, _easily_ , you said?”

“Not by you,” she replies, and there’s something bratty in her voice that has Emma’s insides a hot mess

“Do use that sexy big brain of yours and explain how you’re wet then.”

When Regina doesn’t respond, Emma goes digging further, leaving a trail of butterfly kisses across the plane of her stomach. Her hands linger beside her, stroking smooth circles around her breasts or running up and down the sides of her stomach. And then her lips touch the hem of her underwear, and she momentarily takes in the musky scent like some kind of drug. It’s addicting really, but she forces herself to kiss back up again. It’s the little whine that makes it worth it.

“So maybe… I did something upstairs… without you…”

Had Emma still been a miserable, _love-is-stupid_ kind of woman, she would’ve felt a twang of something like disappointment, or shame. But she knows Regina, trusts Regina — she knows she’s not that bad of a lover… right?

Gulping down the fears, she looks up, catching Regina’s eyes. “And…?”

“You weren’t there…”

“I know that much.”

“I was thinking of last night and how — how — _exhilarating_ it was. I felt like a sixteen-year-old again, finding love for the first time, and I couldn’t help myself; I missed your touch.”

“Oh, no, Regina,” she says, sitting up again, shaking her head. “Don’t do this to me. Not now.”

“W-What?”

“You can’t be this cute when we’re about to do stuff like this! That’s illegal!”

“I —” Her face goes red. “I didn’t… mean to go all cliche and lame on you… oh my God… who am I?”

“The cutest human alive? I make you feel like you’re sixteen again! God, it feels like a Lana Del Rey song.”

“W-Who?”

Emma blinks, but Regina’s curious, wide-eyed expression just confirms that Regina is completely out of touch with today’s music. “N-Never mind.”

And then she looks at Regina, properly, taking in the damp underwear and the bunched up dressing gown and dress and the one breast that Emma (accidentally) uncovered from its confines and her bed hair and flushed cheeks and then laughs. How did she manage to get into the deep end of feelings?

“Does this mean… neither of us win?” Regina asks with a pout. 

“You already came and I didn’t even do anything. Are you sure you’re not mixing ‘easy’ with ‘too easy,’ Regina?”

“S-Shut up. I can’t believe I have feelings for someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“You’re so annoying.” 

Emma grins, kissing her forehead. “At least you get to do the groceries, you’ll be a ten-minute car ride from my annoying ass.”

At that, Regina groans, which only makes Emma laugh more.

So yeah. Life is good. What more does Emma need?

 

…

 

“Please please _please_ let me go on it Mum, _pleaseeeeeeeee_?”

Henry’s pointing eagerly towards _The Hair Raiser_ , the ride Regina denied him from going on last time. Regina looks at her son, then the intimidatingly tall ride, then back at her son, sighing.

“Only if Emma goes with you.”

“ _YES!!!_ ”

As Emma gets dragged into line, surrounded by a newly-turned six year old kid and a bunch of teens with all sorts of weird aesthetics, Regina calls out to them, “I’ll be watching from here!”

So they’re at the carnival, a different one to the one they went to last time, where there’s even more rides to go on and more fairy floss to eat. Henry got a camera for his birthday (after weeks of not-so-subtle ‘Mum, my friend Hansel has a phone and he’s going to become a famous YouTuber when he’s older!’), and asked to spend the day with Emma and Regina at the carnival, because ‘ _we never finished that day_.’

He’s been filming everything, even Emma tripping over literally nothing, much to her despise. But she’s not going to steal the camera to delete it because it’s a memory, even if it’s stupid and embarrassing and little.

“I can’t believe Mum is actually letting us go on it,” Henry tells her eagerly, a big grin on his face. “What did you do, Emma?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Weird. But I was right. You both believed in each other and it worked!”

“You know, you never really explained what ‘it’ was, kid.”

He stares at her, blinking as though she was supposed to have figured it out by now. “True love. You guys have true love.”

Emma has to cough into her elbow. “W-whoa, where did that concept come from? It sounds like a fairy tale thing.”

“Because it is…? It’s in the book Miss Blanchard gave me.”

_Of course it is._

Their conversation is interrupted by a series of screams, and they both watch in awe and in horror at the speed of the massive drop of the ride. Emma gulps, now wondering what exactly she’s put herself into.

“Y-You sure you still wanna go on this thing kid?”

“Of course! Why? Are you _scared_?” He asks, emphasising ‘scared’ in that childish, accusing voice of his. 

“No — I, um, what am I supposed to tell your mum if you throw up or something?”

“I don’t get motion sickness. I think I got that from Daddy.”

_He’s too cocky for his own good_.

And before she knows it, they’re getting strapped into the warm seats, and Emma spots Regina with Henry’s camera in hand. The sight of her, the lens pointed at her face, shaking her head and her mouth moving silently has Emma immediately less terrified. 

Regina Mills? Vlogging? Now that’s a pair Emma didn’t think would happen in a million years. (But then again, she didn’t think Emma and Regina would happen in a million years either. What she’s trying to say is, anything is possible.)

And then Regina looks up, spots Emma and Henry, and turns the camera around. And then she stands up, walking to the silver barriers that separated them.

“My son isn’t going to die on this thing, is he?”

Emma rolls her eyes, aware of the other carnival-goers looking at Regina with confused stares. “Don’t be silly, it’s perfectly safe.”

“Yeah Mum! You sure you don’t want to join us?”

“I’m perfectly content with filming you both screaming,” she says, a smirk firmly planted on her lips.

The ride starts to move up, slowly, and Henry starts to swing his short legs beneath him. Emma is clutching on the safety side bars for dear life, at this point. She doesn’t dare to look down, staring straight ahead and watching as the lights of the carnival fade into an endless blue sky and white clouds.

“Oh my God Henry, how are you so calm?” She asks, completely dumbfounded.

“I mean, it’s a _little_ scary, but —”

_CLICK_.

She swears the force of wind pushing her cheeks upwards might actually rip her face off. There’s screaming all around her, a mix of ‘ _woo-hoo!!!_ ’ and ‘ _aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh_ ’ and all sorts of other weird, very terrified sounds. It’s a ten second drop down but for Emma, whose heart rate actually might burst out of her chest too, felt like ten seconds of actual torture.

When they’re on the ground again, Emma has to take a moment to recollect herself. And once her vision starts to clear up, Henry’s standing in front of her, telling her to get out, with Regina in the distance laughing, camera shaking in hand.

“Your face, Emma!” Regina exclaims, once they meet each other. “My stomach hurts from laughing so hard. Look!”

She shoves the camera in front of Emma, the small screen replaying a very shaky recording of the drop, where Regina has zoomed in completely onto Emma. And, just as she suspected, her face does look like it’s going to rip off.

“My God. Never again.” Emma remarks, shaking her head and stealing the bottle of water from the tote Regina had brought along. 

They go on the carousel, and Emma manages to take the prettiest videos of Regina (or at least tries to; it’s hard capturing perfection), all regal and elegant on top of a metallic painted horse, glowing under the gold lights of the ride. They go on a mini rollercoaster, without the big scary loops, after ten minutes of Emma and Henry reassuring Regina that she won’t fall out of it. What neither of them realised was that the rollercoaster had a steep dip near the end, which had Regina almost choking Emma out of fear.

Of course they bought the photos.

“Hey guys, it’s me again! We just went onto the mini rollercoaster, because my Mum’s afraid of almost everything in this carnival. Anyways, you know how these things have cameras at the end of it? We saw the photo it took of us, and we knew we had to buy it immediately!”

Henry pans the camera around to Emma, who proudly displays the photo to the lens, Regina standing beside her with her hands in her face, shaking her head.

“Now see here, Henry’s future audience, we see Regina choking the life out of me. It’s a miracle I’m still alive!”

“We could’ve died, you idiots!” Regina calls out in the background with a huff.

They stop to have lunch at a little picnic table away from the hustle and bustle, holding white cardboard boxes of hot chips with extra chicken salt, sachets of tomato sauce, and two lemonade cans. There’s no salads today, because Regina is officially free from her mother’s reign, but maybe not entirely because she only eats about ten chips before moving onto some battered fish in another cardboard container, which is just as unhealthy as these chips anyway. And she still mentions that she’s having a salad for the next three days, because it’s Regina.

Eventually, evening strikes, and Henry’s asking for one more birthday request — the ferris wheel. And Regina says yes out of obligation, but as they’re standing in line, her hand slips around Emma’s, holding it tight.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay, we’re going to be here with you, you know that, right?” Emma tells her softly. 

“It’s a ferris wheel. We’re going to be stuck at the top —”

“And it’s going to be beautiful up there. I promise, nothing will happen. See, look!” She gestures towards the gradual spin of the wheel. “It goes slowly. And we’re not going to shake the carriage at all. You’re going to be alright.”

Regina takes a deep breath in, then out, and Emma rubs soft circles on the back of her hand as they step forward in the line. Henry, in front of them, turns around, taking hold of his mother’s other hand clutched at her chest.

They reach the front and have their carnival bracelets scanned, and then Emma and Henry enter the carriage first, both maintaining their hold on Regina as a shaky foot steps inside. Then the other, and then she sits besides Emma. Henry clambers onto his knees so he can watch the view, while Emma takes her other hand and rubs circles on the back of it too.

“Okay?” She asks, and Regina nods, biting her lip. Her head rests against Emma’s shoulder. 

The carriage begins its slow descent up, stopping for a couple to get on two carriages away from them. Regina’s breath hitches when she feels it slightly sway.

“Deep breaths, Regina. They’re just getting people on the ride.”

This process happens for the next six stops, until they’re at the very top and Regina’s about to cry from fear. Emma lets go of her hands and hugs her instead, kissing her forehead until Regina stops shaking. 

And then the wheel moves again, and again until it stops stopping and starts to take its patrons around in a gradual circle. Henry is filming the lights through the bars of the carriage, his mousy brown hair glowing and his eyes sparkling in pure joy. She only wishes Regina had some of his confidence, and wishes she could get rid of the anxieties holding her back.

Emma can’t help but stare at the view in awe, still holding Regina close, but it isn’t until she hears a tiny gasp does she realise she hadn’t been paying attention. 

Because Regina’s looking up. 

“H-Henry… look at you.”

He looks at his mother, slightly confused, until Regina extends a nervous arm, gesturing for the camera.

“Regina… why don’t I —”

“S-Smile Henry!”

She’s okay. Regina’s filming Henry in a ferris wheel. Henry is wide-eyed, but then quickly smiles, because this moment could be ephemeral. They all knew that.

And then she slightly shifts in her seat so that she can capture Emma too.

“Maybe… the ferris wheel is pretty,” she admits to the camera. “Emma, you look stunning here.”

She blushes, but she hopes the camera can’t pick that up under the dusk and the gold lights everywhere. 

“What’s with the sudden boost of confidence?”

“Well… it occurred to me that I’m on a ferris wheel, at the top of the world, with the two loves of my life. And you haven’t let me fall.”

Emma blinks. “As if I’d let you fall, Regina. I’d never do that.”

“That’s… what I love about you.”

There’s a thousand other things more important than desire that Emma could name off the top of her head. Oxygen, communication, hot chocolate… and love.

Emma Swan wasn’t a romantic. Not until Regina Mills.

Her signature red lipstick and apple and cinnamon scent. The way her dark hair curled softly at the ends, bouncing on her shoulders as she laughed when Henry said something about his mother being the best mother ever. The way their fingers touched as she gave the camera to Emma, so that her happiness could be captured for their future selves to watch. The gentle smile. The fluttering eyes. 

The heartbeats.

She wouldn’t be able to hear Regina’s heartbeat if she let her fall. 

She doesn’t think she’d ever be a romantic ever again, if that happened.

“Ew, Mum, Emma, that’s too many lovey-dovey eyes for the camera!” Henry whines, covering his eyes. But he’s smiling, laughing, _happy_. They all are.

Henry takes his camera back, turning around to capture more of the view, waving cheekily to strangers below him. Regina slips her hand back into Emma’s, kissing her once, softly, on the lips.

“I love you, Emma Swan.”

“Love you too, Regina Mills.”

To dive is to fly, Emma supposes.

To dive is to fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @oceansregina on twitter, if you ever wanted to see what i actually do (art and rt lots of random fandom stuff), or to say hi :) ty again for reading <3

**Author's Note:**

> idk when the next update will be, maybe i'll set it to every wednesday night for the Motivation(TM), but i guess i'll keep y'all updated on my twitter (@oceansregina)
> 
> thank you for reading <3


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